And so the Soviets Conquered
by Vengeful Soldier
Summary: At the height of the Union's Power a gate mysteriously appears in Kiev, unleashing a torrent of invaders killing and maiming all in their path. Now that the Bear has awoken from its uneasy slumber, nothing will stop its fury.
1. Chapter 1

Superpower:

Noun/

1.

An extremely powerful nation, especially one capable of influencing international events and the acts and policies of less powerful nations.

2.

Power greater in scope or magnitude than that which is considered natural or has previously existed.

Superpower. That was the most accurate way to describe the CCCP, called the USSR by its NATO rivals. The Soviet Union was a vast union of nations formed from the flames of violent revolution, tempered by war, and bound together at its heart in Moscow by military strength and communist ideology. Stretching from the North Sea to the straits of Kamchatka, and down to the Euphrates from the arctic circle, it was the largest empire the world had ever seen.

Its military was the largest on Earth, capable of waging simultaneous warfare on four continents and win them all. Its soldiers were well trained, well equipped, and followed the doctrine of superior firepower nearly religiously. Tanks, planes, bombs, guns, and ships were produced in vast quantities, outstripping their rivals many times over by the sheer volume of weaponry at their disposal. It was rugged, durable, reliable, and easy to use.

Following the end of the Great Patriotic war in 1945, the USSR was in a unique position. It controlled nearly half of Europe, its rivals economies save for the United States were far too ravaged to effectively challenge them. They also now had unrestricted access to the worlds great oceans and seas. The had uninterrupted access to the Mediterranean from the newly integrated Turkey after defeating them when they joined the Axis in the second world war. Their naval Bases in Norway was their greatest trump card from the Great Patriotic war. Having liberated both Norway and Sweden from the Nazis, both states joined and were successfully integrated into the new Union. Yet the Union was tired and nearly spent from the war and needed policies put in place to help them recover. Under Stalin it instituted several policies meant to not only help them recover from the losses in the Great Patriotic War, but to make them stronger than ever before.

It became law for a family to have at least six children unless medically unable to do so, with rewards and lavish government grants to those who exceeded that number. There was some light resistance to this new law, but with large families the norm in the more rural regions and the knowledge that the Soviet regime could not be challenged, the law was complied with. Mostly that is. In regions such as the newly integrated Turkish SSR, there was still periodic resistance.

After the Great Patriotic War the Soviet Union had a population hovering somewhere around 400 million souls. Twenty two years after the war in 1967 the population had exploded to nearly 670 million, with estimates that the population would continue to climb at a birthrate near 16.5 and holding steady. Estimates were that by the new millennium the Soviet Union would possess a billion souls within its borders. The greatest population increase ironically being in the new GDR and the Ukraine, followed closely by Poland and Russia itself. The most popular theory as to why the Eastern European countries experienced the greatest population boom was due in large part to the economic need of the grants. They were the countries that were most damaged by the war and promises of generous government funds had spurred a baby boom like no other in history. It was not uncommon for families to have twelve children.

The one area that the Soviet Union lagged behind NATO in, especially America was computer technology. American warplanes despite the amount of money that the Soviet Union put into research and development could engage Soviet at greater ranges consistently. The same was true for armoured and infantry warfare. American targeting systems, night vision goggles, ECM, ICBMs, and body armor were both more numerous and of higher quality than their Soviet counterparts. The Soviets found that their hardware was equal to, if not superior to their NATO rivals, but they simply did not have a technological edge. In fact, one could say that they were lacking in that regard in comparison.

The newest Soviet air superiority fighter, the MIG 23, while an even match for the American F4 Phantom, would find itself at a distinct disadvantage against the likes of the new American F15 and F16 fighter craft. Talk was of a new American missile capable of engaging fighter craft at farther distances and more accurately than all previous models, though it was still in testing. This would give American pilots an already greater advantage in air warfare than they already had.

That was in part why the Soviet military had expanded the way it had. It was a steamroller, with well trained and well equipped troops that would be given a single order in the event of a war. Go forwards. Estimates were that even with all NATO defenses against them it would take only two weeks to reach the English Channel. Barring the use of nuclear weapons of course. The Soviet military was an unstoppable juggernaut that simply could not be stopped.

"So. Has the west and NATO learned of this...incident?" asked Dmitri Konev. Dmitri Konev was an average sized man in an above average sized office, with a high backed brown leather chair, a large hardwood desk, and a picture of the battle of Stalingrad behind his desk hanging above him. He bore a similar namesake, but no relation to Ivan Konev, one of the great Soviet generals of the great patriotic war. The south side of his office was taken up entirely by large windows that overlooked Red Square. He was also the Marshall of the Soviet Union and as such the highest military ranked official in the entirety of the Union.

He was a quiet military man, with service running back in his family to the time of the Czars and he was the fifth consecutive generation of his family to wear the uniform, three of his sons being in the sixth. He was a career man who had spent his career preparing for massive battles against the forces of NATO that would once again leave Europe and the rest of the world awash in blood and tears.

He had prepared for nearly any eventuality from a joint Japanese-American invasion of Sverdlovsk, to a surprise attack from Peoples Republic of China. Even a massed invasion from a coalition of African nations spearheaded by Turkey with heavy NATO support in terms of weapons and funding. What he had not been prepared for, was this.

"Most definitely giving the time frame that this happened nearly a month ago now. I would say yes. Something like this can not simply be swept under the rug, and no doubt their spies and simple word of mouth has carried the news to our counterparts in NATO, if not further."

"A redundant question I do admit. One can not cover up a battle in the city of Kiev and expect there to be no one who questions why T-55 and T-62 tanks were rolling down Ukrainian streets. Perhaps we could have written it off as a training exercise, but we can't make a justifiable excuse as to why SU 17 attack craft were dropping cluster and iron bombs in the city center."

Konev ran his hand through his thinning hair and appeared like a man engaging in a deep and unpleasant train of thought that one must nevertheless conduct.

"What of the invaders? How many prisoners did we capture?"

"Approximately 8000 combatants alive initially, 7000 of which are expected to survive and recover from their injuries. There was also a following of civilians following the army through the gate. Most fled when the army was routed, however 1000 were captured and are in internment as we speak. It appears that they were a mix from wives, cobblers, bakers, and whores. As well as...9 dragons, 32 orcs, and what can only be described as a pig man," said the intelligence officer like he was forcing himself to say it, knowing himself how ridiculous it sounded. "The latter have been taken by the 15th directorate of the red army for testing."

Konev nodded in understanding and even a little sympathy. The 15th was responsible for all biological weapons programs within the Soviet Union. They were probably going to test them for any new pathogens that any of the...prisoners or corpses could be holding. Possibly test some of their new weapons to see how they reacted to a foreign biology.

"I understand that they followed a feudal structure to their command, matching their weapons and tactics?" asked Konev, glancing over reports and photos from the incident on his desk

"A mixture Comrade Marshal. Some of the soldiers were professional soldiery and seemed to be organized in a similar fashion to that of ancient Rome. Even mimicking the manipular style of combat with small variations. Recovered equipment revealed square shields, short swords, javelins, as well as plate and mail armor. Others appeared to be the personal soldiers or mercenaries of lords, and armed similarly with bows, pikes, axes, swords, and various other medieval weaponry. From our reports however, there were no militia levies present in the fighting."

"Has the final death toll of our people come in yet?" asked Konev quietly.

"Yes Comrade Marshall. 704 civilians died in the attack along with 53 police officers and 21 soldiers. It breaks down to 294 men, 352 women, and 58 children among the civilians. Another 1034 civillians received various injuries from moderate to severe. 382 amputations had to be performed as a result of traumatic injury to the limb."

"And the final reports of their casualties?"

"12 000 estimated dead Comrade Marshal, we're still counting the bodies, but 12 000 is a conservative number. There aren't enough...whole bodies to positively identify them all."

Konev nodded again. He had heard the reports, the army had advanced slowly, with their dragon riders and inhuman mercenaries riding ahead of their main force. They had killed many unsuspecting people in the initial attack, but weapons fire from police units had stalled the much larger force as they had seemed baffled by the weapons being used against them. It had been enough time for the emergency reaction forces from the nearby military bases to arrive. ZSU-23 Shilkas had made short work of the dragons and the motor rifle regiments neutralized the ground forces with help from the armor regiments. Though neutralized was too soft of a word, systematically butchered described what had happened better.

"And our advance force has already secured a position on the other side to prevent future attacks?"

"Yes Comrade Marshal. Approximately 10 000 combat troops with their supporting staffs and reinforced artillery brigades have set up defensive positions on the other side. They've encountered several attacks by indigenous forces, with reports saying that an army of an estimated 150 000 is approaching them."

"I see. Do they require reinforcements?"

"No Comrade Marshal, just requests for more munitions."

"Send more men anyways, I would like to potentially see our presence brought up to army strength on the other side of the Gate."

"Comrade? What do we need that kind of force there for? NATO will more than likely pick up the troop movements and possibly think we're mobilizing our military against them. Is that such a good idea?" asked the intelligence officer questioningly. Instead of answering, the field marshal took out what appeared to be a core sample in a bland metal container and put it on his desk. He unscrewed the top and poured it out onto his desk. Black dirt cascaded from the container.

"Do you know what this is?"

"Dirt Comrade Marshal."

"Exactly, but more than that, this is some of the most fertile dirt we have ever tested. It makes the break basket of Europe look like the Sahara desert. The amount of phosphates, nutrients, and composition of the soil means that it will grow anything that we throw into it. We're expecting an overpopulation crisis in the next forty years. The USSR is large, but even so, our population is growing exponentially and it is a population that we need to feed, house, educate, and provide for. While we have the room to support such a population, it will put a severe strain on the water tables and when we have a drought we will need to heavily rely on trade to import food into the Union. This isn't the case yet, but when our population crests a billion people and continues to rise we will start to see the effect more alarmingly, especially with the modernization of our infrastructure in the more remote regions."

"I'm going to be frank with you Fedor. There is talk within the proletariat of turning this tragedy into a new mass colonization event. This is a windfall like no other with the potential to raise the standard of living of many of our citizens. The ability to give land to families who have depressingly very little. Some of the more optimistic estimates are talking of putting over a hundred thousand to a million people through the Gate a year to settle on the other side."

"Comrade Marshal, I don't know how NATO or America will take this. At the very least they will demand to be allowed access to the Gate and equal opportunity to explore the other side."

"All requests of which will be denied. This is the largest trump card ever handed to the Union, greater even than our naval bases in the North Sea or Mediterranean. This is potentially an entire planet and its resources to develop and exploit. Believe me when I say that this Gate will be the most fiercely defended site in the Soviet Union. The new air defense grid around Kiev will be twice as strong as the one around Moscow and a hundred and twenty of our newest MIG 23 fighters are going to be stationed in the area. I do not exaggerate when I say that the Union is prepared to go to war over it."

"Comrade Marshall not to question you, but even for all the land, if the motherland is hit with nuclear weapons it won't matter if we need grain or not. And we have half a world worth of resources to use besides."

Field Marshall Konev stood up and walked over to the windows and pulled the curtains shut. After which he flipped a switch under his desk, allowing an almost imperceptible buzzing sound to fill the room. After which he pulled out a silvery metallic rock out of his wall safe and set it on his desk.

"Fedor, I'm only telling you this because you're my son and as such I trust you above all others. What I say can not leave this room."

Fedor Konev involuntarily swallowed and felt a flicker of anxiety. For his father to talk so openly of future plans in his own office, what would be considered top secret without worry, but activate all countermeasures at his disposal to avoid being overheard for this was of an entirely different gravity.

"I understand Comrade Marshal."

"We call this substance R-331. It is a metal we have found in abundance on the other side of the gate and in vast quantities. It also has a unique property to it. It's strong, it's light, and we're reasonably sure we can make it into a paint. It disperses heat quickly, lighter than aluminum, and strong once forged properly. The only drawback is the difficulty of working it into what we want. It is what is being called a magic metal. It's a whole new element of the periodic table. But it's most unique feature, is that it can not be locked onto by radar, barely even detectable by it. Even a piece of this size when put into the cockpit of a MIG 21 made all of our radar SA missile systems unable to secure a positive lock."

That was the bombshell. The reason for so much Soviet interest on the other side of the gate besides the superficial reasons of more territory and things like grain and water. The biggest advantage that America and NATO had over Russia was their long range radar weapons and countermeasures. If the Union could get a hold of large quantities of this metal, the air power would be equal plane for plane between the two countries and the Union had many more planes than NATO. Their warships would be invulnerable to long range cruise missiles, their subs, undetectable, and nearly every major advantage NATO had would be moot. Kapitan Fedor Konev stood there, mouth agape for a moment as the gravity of what he had just heard sunk in.

"That is why we will not share the gate, why we will defend it so jealously. This is our secret weapon. With this, we can wage war against NATO. We can win."

Fedor had heard many such claims in the past, but coming from his father, a staunch believer in the MAD doctrine and the futility of a conflict between the two great superpowers, he believed it.

xxx

Senior Sergeant Feliks Volkov was currently sitting up in his foxhole, watching over the top lip at the burning horizon ahead, covering his ears. BM-24s and BM-21grads were flinging dozens, hundreds of rockets into the distance like shooting stars, lighting up the night sky while the heavy tube artillery pieces thundered their rounds into the distance. The so called medium 152mm and 130 mm guns raining death down of their enemies in the distance. The mortars and BM14s were silent for the moment, waiting for the enemy to get closer. The T-55s and T-62s waiting like steel behemoths, dug deep into the earth, waiting for their chance to join the fight. Their cannons pointed like inquisitive snouts towards the horizon, sniffing for a trace of their prey. Poking out as if trying to catch a whiff of their quarry.

Feliks checked the condition of his AKM for the hundredth time, opening his mouth to help equalize the pressure of the thudding artillery as he did so, even two hundred meters away from the guns they were hellishly loud. Once he had finished checking the load of his rifle again, he readied it again with a satisfying click clack. He seriously doubted that they would get close enough that he would have to actually use it. So instead, he hunkered down in his foxhole again and covered his ears, seeing many of the men in his section doing the same. So far, no one had had to really fight save for the artillery crews and some motor rifle troops who had the unglamorous duty to clear the battlefield of the dead. They mostly used tanks or engineering vehicles with dozer blades to push the remains into large piles and then burn them. Feliks had the feeling that this would be much the same. Just then the BM14s began firing, streaking away like fiery red comets into the night sky which meant that their foes were within ten kilometers. He wouldn't become overly worried until the mortars and tanks started firing though.

The rockets that they would be shooting into the distance would be a mix of frag, high explosive, cluster, and thermobaric warheads. Platforms such as the BM series were more of a saturation weapon, dealing heavy damage over a wide area. Not as accurate as other types of artillery strikes, but ruthlessly brutal against the closed formations and medieval tactics that their opponents were using against them. Feliks knew that they were of division strength on the hill, but they were equipped with artillery enough for nearly three with dozens of batteries of artillery reshaping the earth around them with thunder and fire.

He watched the artillery crews, sweating and grunting, laboring, stripped to the waist as they kept up an astounding rate of fire, loading and reloading their artillery pieces with rockets and shells to keep up the barrage. The hill stank of powder charges and burnt rocket fuel. As soon as they had finished loading their weapons they would begin firing again, with the thudding of guns and roar of rockets, the sound was a physical force that vibrated in his chest, threatening to shake him to pieces. Where they landed though was much worse, but from where Feliks was, the distant explosions were a muffled crump.

The barrage was turning the once flat plains into a cratered, burning wasteland with explosions of fire and steel lighting up the horizon with constant detonations. How such a force could continue advancing through that, Feliks could never know.

There was a vindictive satisfaction at watching these people get destroyed before even being able to see who or what they were fighting. They had declared war on the CCCP, the Soviet Union and the Motherland herself. Stole into one of her cities like murderers and killed men, women, and children without discrimination, without mercy. It had not been warfare, not combat, just plain and simple murder. Unjustifiable, unconscionable, and unforgivable. They were under standing orders that unless the individual seemed of significant importance they were not to be taken prisoner, not to be treated except by quick application of Kalashnikov. Their presence here was about more than defense. It was about vengeance. To show these barbarians that you did not slap the bear and not expect it to rise and crush you beneath its unfathomable might.

Fourteen hours later, Feliks and his men were relieved and the guns had fallen silent. The latest attempt to push them from the hilltop by the indigenous armies had failed and Feliks and his men were finally being allowed to get some much needed rest.

"Comrade Senior Sergeant, think I'll ever actually get to use this?"

Feliks recognized the voice immediately and saw its owner, the big and burly junior sergeant Boris lugging around his trusty RPD, weapon still gleaming, seemingly much to the dissatisfaction of its owner. Boris was older than Feliks by at least a two decades and had seen combat in Turkey during the secessionist war of 62 and before that the Swedish rebellion in 59. Before even that he had been involved in multiple border skirmishes between The Union and China. He was a big bear of a man, hailing from Leningrad where he had originally been a sailor in the Baltic. Having gotten into some sort of trouble the man had been offered two choices. Join the Army, or go to prison. Figuring the prison that let him out once and a while that also paid him preferable to the other, Boris had joined the army. Turned out he had a knack for it and never left. He had been promoted and demoted numerous times, but it never seemed to faze the man.

"Probably on the range," said Feliks with a short chortle.

"Damned artillery gets all the fun. I'm telling you Feliks, once you get a taste for combat you'll get addicted to it. Maybe put that spetsgruppa training to use. Tell me again, why did you leave?"

Feliks groaned loudly, as much for exaggeration as the big mans amusement and made a show of rolling his eyes and sighing loudly.

"Because I failed the fitness test the year after I got my qualification," said Feliks. At one time he had been extremely bitter about it, now he found it hilarious in a way, but not so much as Boris.

"Too much good cooking huh? Little too much vodka maybe? Or maybe it was you spending all of your time playing chess eh?"

"A little of all that I suppose. That and I didn't do the training I should have before hand."

"Bah, excuses," said Boris waving his massive paw of a hand for emphasis. "Still, at least you can shoot because if you had to run you'd make it about ten steps before you keeled over eh?"

"More like nine," said Feliks, eliciting a guffaw from Boris. "I'll just use the moves that they taught me in training. Systema's a pretty good fighting system," continued Feliks.

"I'll stick to what I know, don't need nothing fancy," said Boris.

"So headbutts?"

Boris grinned at that, revealing a row of steel capped teeth and rapped a fist against his bullet shaped head. The helmet giving off a thud each time his scarred knuckles rapped against it. The tight fitting, almost too small helmet just added to the impression that his head was really a large steel capped bullet.

"You're quite mouthy for a young pup, you know that?"

"Well I learned from my _elders_ quite well."

"Ha! My youngest is as old as you and he made all the same jokes until I taught him a little _respect._ If only I could teach you to hold your liquor maybe I'd have respect for you. I swear my grandmother could drink you under the table."

"Oh probably," agreed Feliks. "Anyways I think it's time for me to get some sleep," said Feliks yawning expansively.

"Same reveille time as yesterday?"

"Probably, the lieutenant will most likely get us up earlier for inspection before that. Make sure that the other guys know to keep their boots polished and buttons shone."

"Goddamned idiot if you ask me, having us get dressed up in parade uniform out here."

"Maybe, but orders are orders. Just don't say that to his face, I don't want to start calling you private any time soon."

"Ha! I'm a junior sergeant for life Comrade. Never get demoted below it, and never go above it for too long. Don't know why they keep promoting me honestly."

"Probably so they can demote you again."

"I wouldn't doubt it. Anyways I should head and get a quick wash before I have to wait."

"They don't have the showers set up yet do they?"

"A bar of soap and pail of water will be good enough," said Boris dismissively. That was one thing about the veteran, he liked to be clean and every opportunity he got, he would use it to have a wash. Feliks had asked him about it once and Boris had said that after the grime and slime of the Baltic, Boris hated being dirty any longer than absolutely necessary. Though the old veteran was usually right, a quick hot wash could do wonders for your mood.

"You should wash too. Don't want to get crotch rot, that is _hell._ "

"I suppose I should," said Feliks, now wanting to have a quick wash and change into fresh fatigues.

A short while later Feliks was shaving the stubble off of his face with a straight razor and using a small compact mirror to guide his work. Boris was doing something similar, but shaving his head as well.

"Think we'll get those new MI-24 helicopters in here?" asked Boris, his large scarred hands rock steady as he cleared stubble from his head with even strokes at the edge of his combat knife. His large scarred hands rock steady. Boris kept his blade razor keen and his skill with a knife made Feliks believe that he had been more than a simple fisherman before he had joined the army to escape a single misdeed.

"Don't know, you think that they'll be any good?"

"I'm pretty hopeful. I've heard that they're bullet proof and even a DHsK can't punch through them. A pilot, gunner, crew chief, and room for eight full grown men in the back and it can be used to carry litters. If I knew what I know now twenty years ago I would have joined the air force. Helicopters are just so damned neat."

"A helicopter than can take a .50 cal? Come on Boris that's absurd," said Feliks dismissively. "The thing wouldn't fly if you put that kind of armor on it."

"Ah, say whatever you want. I would've said the same thing about putting a man on the moon when I was your age, but look what America did. Man that's something. Anyways back to you my suckling babe of a friend. When are you finally going to get a girl?"

"I don't know. Six mini Feliks' running around isn't too enticing right now."

"Look on the bright side, they might take after their mother and _not_ be hideous as a result. But if they take after you, well," said Boris with a shrug of his shoulders as if resigning the fate of the children to something dire. "And besides, you don't have to marry the girl right away. I mean you were spetsgruppa for gods sake. A man made out of steel and the manliest of men, and yet you've never been with a girl."

"So what?" said Feliks, feeling his anger begin to rise just a little, a combination of his lack of sleep and the topic of the subject.

"So I'm gonna start thinking there's something wrong with you if you make it to twenty three and you've never been with a girl. It's easy. Next time we get leave I'll take you to a bar in Kiev and I promise I'll get you a girl, all you have to do is be your charming self."

"I don't want a prostitute," said Feliks.

"It won't be a prostitute, I promise it'll just be a nice girl. Well, not a prostitute at least," said Boris contemplatively. Feliks threw a handful of foam at Boris. The big man merely took the foam off with an unhurried swipe of his hand and flicked it to the ground.

"Fine. Well on the bright side you'll live forever," said Boris.

"How's that?"

"Because virgins never die, it's a movie fact."

"Oh shut up," grumbled Felix. The men finished their grooming in silence and Felix found his way back to his tent, but stopped short, suddenly alert, muscles tense and hands ready to bring his AKM around. He didn't know why he stopped, but it was as if his body was reacting automatically to some unseen danger. He looked around carefully.

It was nearly midday and the sun was high in the sky and all Feliks saw was exhausted soldiers trudging this way and that in loose marching order, while Ural trucks filled to the roof with munitions trundled by the long row of military tents. The mountain stretched up high behind them and the gate, with a white capped peak on the solitary giant of stone. Involuntarily Feliks had flipped off the safety for his AKM and found his muscles nearly quivering, ready to bring it up in an instant.

Seeing nothing though, Feliks flipped the safety back on and slung his rifle. He wasn't usually jumpy, so why was reacting like this now? After the battle had been fought, he should be tired, which he was and ready for sleep, but he was on edge like he was on sentry duty in a hot zone. Feliks ran a hand through his short cut auburn hair that most people mistook for being brown in the dark and sighed. Maybe the constant shelling had worn away his nerves so they were like frayed, exposed wires? He just needed some sleep.

Wearily, Feliks went to his tent and fell onto his cot, falling asleep quickly, but with his rifle clasped firmly upon his chest.

Xxx

The inside of the BTR60 was cramped, especially when you shared it with men as large as Boris. The ride was somewhat bumpy as the all terrain APC went over rocks and felled trees. It seemed that after the previous weeks assault the local forces had decided that it wasn't worth the effort to take the hill, or had more likely been unable to continue the assault. They had used the shell craters as mass grave pits and used engineering vehicles to push the bodies of the men, animals, and other creatures into them. They then poured petrol on the bodies and burned them to prevent disease and even now, greasy black smoke was rising into the sky like filthy, grasping fingers making Feliks glad that he had been picked for recon duty instead of cleanup duty. There was talk of high command sending more forces through to reinforce them which Feliks thought to be unnecessary. Nothing sent at them had even threatened to dislodge them.

Regardless though, the Gate as it was simply called, never ceased operation. It was wide enough for eight T-62 main battle tanks to drive through abreast with at least a meter separating them and day and night trucks poured through bringing munitions, food, water, equipment, and more forces. All of it current or slightly older model equipment available to the Soviet Union. The newest weapons such as the T-64 main battle tanks was kept on ready status in Europe and the withdrawal of such weapons would have drawn suspicion and raised tensions between the Union and NATO.

The passage of so many vehicles at the top of the hill churned the earth into a soupy, rutted mess that was repaired and leveled constantly by the engineers, only for it to be torn apart again in an endless cycle of churning tires and treads.

As it stood now, Feliks was in just one of many patrols being sent out into the surrounding area. Mi 2 helicopters were conducting recon flights, but they could not see through the dense forests surrounding the mountain and command wanted an accurate picture of what was around them as well as the artillery wanted better grid maps so they could more accurately plot their shots.

Two BDRM2s, three BTR60s and a trio of UAZ jeeps made up the patrol force, with the BTR60 in the middle of the column housing the lieutenant and acting as their command vehicle. The jeeps were full of cartographers and engineers tasked with helping to map the terrain. The helicopters took enough pictures to make accurate topography maps, but command wanted more detailed maps and local area knowledge which led to dozens of patrols like theirs scouting and mapping the terrain around them.

The smells of crushed wood, sap, and clean air filtered in through the firing slits of the BTR. It was pleasant smelling, natural and untouched, but the smell itself was tainted by the smell of diesel and gun oil within the cramped confines of the BTR.

The big bear of a man Boris in particular had to hunch to fit comfortably within the BTR. He was well over six feet tall and a mountain of muscle. He was also the man sitting next to Feliks and was pushing him into the rear of the APC.

They had been driving for a few hours now and were at least a dozen miles away from the main base camp by the Gate. The engineers and cartographers and whatever other specialists in the jeeps would take soil samples, plant samples, and generally do their field work, discussing what they found like boardroom scholars, while Feliks and Boris along with the rest of their comrades had to stand around and watch for anything that could possible threaten them, which amounted to very little.

On this particular day however, the lieutenant had gotten the idea into his head that he wanted to send a third of their force on a deeper patrol while the engineers did their work when they had finally found a promising spot. This section selected to go out ended up being Feliks' which was why he was now trudging through a forest he knew nothing of with no map of, and just a compass so he could find his way back to their patrol. Feliks was really starting to dislike the lieutenant.

"Find anything interesting yet?" asked Boris conversationally as they pushed through the undergrowth.

"Indeed Comrade Junior Sergeant. Stones wishing liberation from the oppressive bourgeoisie soil and wishing for a home in your noble rucksack."

"Ha, well they can stay in the ground, they're needed there."

"But Comrade!" exclaimed Feliks feigning shock and disbelief. "You would refuse to help the hard working, oppressed, and downtrodden rocks? Have you no shame Comrade Junior Sergeant? Do you not know that the only war is the class war?" Boris guffawed heartily at that, a deep booming laugh that if it could have, would have torn the trees from their roots.

"I can guarantee you that there are more types of war than the class war Comrade Senior Sergeant," said Boris in between laughs, wiping at his eyes. "What about the hardworking trees? Can you not see that they need your help as well comrade?"

"Imperialist scum and deciduous traitors to the motherland."

"You've got an answer for everything don't you kid?"

"If I don't I make it up pretty quick," said Feliks.

"Sergeant, I found a blood trail."

Feliks perked up immediately at that and quit smiling. It was Corporal Abram Davydov who had said it, the squad marksman. He was the newest and youngest member of the squad, still a kid at 17 years, but a crack shot nonetheless. A short man from the Ukraine that hailed from some rural hamlet near Odessa. The kid was new and young, but he had eagle eyes.

"We'll follow it, but let the lieutenant know that we're doing it," Feliks told the radio operator who obediently called the lieutenant who approved it.

Like a bloodhound, Abram followed the trail relentlessly, with the rest of the section following close on his heels, spread out in a combat patrol pattern. Wary of attack or ambush. They followed the trail for maybe a kilometer. It was faint but definitely visible to the sharp eyed marksman.

Light filtered in through the leaves overhead, giving patches of lights and casting shadows from the large and tall trees. Easily fifty feet for the smallest, the trees would take three grown men holding hands to loop around the smallest of them. This was an old forest and the gnarled roots snaked across, under, and over the ground at their feet making the going slow. The canopy above them made the forest quite dark in places and the thick brush sometimes made it necessary to walk single file. If one wasn't careful they could easily trip. It was unnerving walking through the dense foliage. They had poor visibility and dozens of hostiles could be hiding behind every tree.

After they had climbed a small hill, Davydov signaled for the section to halt and Feliks came up level with the marksman quickly.

"The one that's been making the trail is sitting behind that tree up ahead, I saw a hand for a second," whispered Davydov.

"Alright. Boris, stay here and set up, Davydov you Vitsin and Grekov will do the same. Belikov, guard the rear. Zonov and Averin, you're with me. Zonov you'll go around the opposite side of the tree that I do while Averin, you'll watch our backs just in case."

There was a chorus of yes sergeant and Feliks' section deployed quickly and efficiently. Feliks advanced with a low combat crouch, walking like a SWAT officer clearing a building, rifle up and searching for something to shoot at. With a quick hand signal to Zonov, Feliks went around the side of the large oak tree quickly, and was quite frankly surprised by what he saw.

It was a woman with long blonde hair in a dress, with long pointed ears and a slender face. There was also an arrow sticking out of her stomach. She was breathing, but shallowly and her dress was soaked in blood. Her complexion that wasn't hidden by a golden shroud of hair was waxy and white, looking deathly like a corpse breathing its last. Despite that her features were eerily perfect, doll like even in their symmetry and lack of flaws.

"Medic, get up here!" called Feliks authoritatively. Vitsin, the squads medic came running up and stood stunned for a half second looking at the elf woman with the arrow in her stomach before setting to work.

"Honestly Comrade Volkov I don't know what to do. She's lost a lot of blood, but I don't know how much and she's breathing and she's got a heartbeat, but I don't know what's healthy for her and what's not. The physiology is just...different. What I can tell you is that she is still alive, in shock, and needs surgery. Something she can only get back at base camp."

"Alright. Would waking her up help at all with smelling salts?"

"Maybe. It's mostly used for verbal cues to see how the patient replies to stimuli. Pain works too, but I have no idea where to pinch and if it would cause the same amount of pain stimuli."

"Well, one way to find out," said Feliks. He grabbed one of the elf woman's ears between his thumb and forefinger, then pinched and bent it towards him. The effect was immediate. The woman's eyes shot open revealing bright purple eyes, followed quickly by a loud yelp and a fist into his face, knocking him off of his haunches and onto his back.

Xxx

The woman was currently tied to a stretcher on the roof of the BTR and taking the bumpy trail back towards Base camp. Vitsin had patched her up as best he could, stopping the bleeding but leaving the arrow in. He said that removing it could cause severe damage and possibly end up killing her. She had initially fought them when the had woken her up, been terrified of them even. They had bound her to a stretcher as much to stop her from agitating her wounds as to stop her from trying to hit them. Boris had nearly died from laughing when he learned that Feliks had been knocked onto his back and that his new shiner was a result of the petite blonde woman. They couldn't give her painkillers for fear of how it would react with her physiology, but they had given her antibiotics to prevent infection.

Now the woman got gone from speaking in a rapid fire lyrically soft language to glancing apprehensively at Feliks and whimpering in pain intermittently. It was odd looking at the woman. She was something from myth and legend, a Faye creature and yet now he was looking at her with his own eyes. She was the first living inhabitant of this world that Feliks had seen with his own eyes, though it was almost surreal seeing the arrow sticking out of her and her conscious and looking around. And her eyes, Feliks had never thought that he'd ever see purple eyes and he couldn't help but stare, but stopped when he saw that it was making the woman nervous.

"So I guess that it's not that you don't want a woman, you've just got more exotic tastes," said Boris, his RPD resting across his knees as he picked at his metal teeth.

"Why is it if I look at a woman, you assume I like her?" asked Feliks.

"Well when you look at a girl like _that_ you like her my friend. If I had known all you needed to do to find a girl you liked was to find one shot with an arrow I would have taken up archery a long time ago."

The elf's ears suddenly twitched and her eyes went wide and she started shouting something in her native language, almost frantically as if trying to get Feliks's attention.

"See, she wants you Feliks. Open up your rations and share your lunch with her," said Boris.

"Dammit Boris are you so desperate to set me up with a woman that you'll try and put me up with one that's half dead? I mean come on-ow!" exclaimed Feliks. "The hell did you hit me for?" demanded Feliks angrily, rubbing at his head.

"I didn't," said Boris suddenly serious.

There was a whistling sound and with a whoosh of air and something passed close by Feliks's face. He saw it streak by. Arrow.

"AMBUSH! RIGHT SIDE!" bellowed Boris at the top of his lungs as he leaped from the roof of the BTR as it came to a screeching halt, barely avoiding a massive tree trunk that fell in front of it. Cracking wood sounding as loud as any gunshot followed by a tortured groan and the sheer mass of the tree startled Feliks more as the tree actually shook the ground as it hit. Feliks reacted quickly though, doing the same as Boris after cutting the straps holding the Elf woman's stretcher to the roof of the BTR.

"Boris, help me get her down!" shouted Feliks as the turrets of the BTR 60s swiveled to the side of the trail that the arrow had come from. Terrible howling sounded soon afterwards and the heavy KPVT machine guns started their deep thudding firing. The 14.5mm shells ripping up foliage and mulching bushes in their way, ripping out large chunks of trees, sending wood flying. As Boris was helping haul the stretcher and woman off of the top of the BTR, the troops inside started firing out of their firing slits at whoever was attacking them. Whoever they were though, they had made a big mistake. Five heavy machine guns, five medium machine guns, and near two dozen rifles were being used to turn them to paste.

Feliks flipped the safety off of his AKM and leaned out from behind the BTR in time to see a horned creature with cloven hooves and tusks that was frothing at the mouth running at him brandishing a club. It was greyish in color, easily six and a half feet tall and probably three hundred pounds with two small piggish eyes. Its clothing was a cloth merely wrapped around its midsection and the thing stunk even at a distance. It was charging straight for them instead of weaving in between the thick underbrush and using it for cover. Choosing instead to run over any bushes or saplings in its way.

Feliks shot a long burst into the thing, watching the heavy 7.62 by 39mm shells stitch bloody holes in the thing as seven rounds thudded into it. It took another half step, mouth open in shock at its sudden injury and then collapsed. Feliks shot it once again in the head to make sure it was dead before firing a few more quick bursts into the treeline before ducking back in behind the BTR60. An arrow whistled past Feliks' head as he ducked back behind the APC.

Feliks' mouth was dry, his muscles tense, twitching, his breath seemed short for a moment, and his heart was thudding in his chest as cordite assaulted his nose and the deep thudding fire of the KPVTs assaulted his ears. Feliks was also grinning like a mad man. Not a happy grin, but a grin that belied a more malevolent purpose. A thirsty grin, one that could only be sated by blood. He had seen combat before, not that he had told Boris that, and he loved it. Feliks sometimes wondered if there was something psychologically wrong with him for enjoying combat so much, but every time he was put into mortal danger he felt an almost sense of, Euphoria.

Boris was leaning around the front side of the BTR, firing his RPD from the hip. No small feat, even considering the size of Boris himself. He swung back in behind the BTR and on his own face was a similar look, revealing steel capped teeth. He and Feliks shared a knowing look and both leaned out again and fired at the gray skinned _orcs_ that were attacking them. Hatches opened on the BTRs and the soldiers within piled out on the side facing away from the attackers.

The lieutenant had exited his BTR and was shouting orders a moment before a spear as long as Feliks himself skewered the man, punching through his light bullet and stab resistant vest.

"CONTACTS LEFT SIDE!" shouted Feliks, taking a knee and firing bursts from his AKM at the advancing orcs, the rest of the Soviet soldiers doing the same. The orcs were big, armed with large, crude iron and wood weapons, but they went down quickly to their rifles. The unique chatter of the Kalashnikov rifle never letting up, even for an instant.

A hard tap, more like a swat on his shoulder drew his attention to Boris who was yelling, revealing his shiny metal teeth.

"That damned lieutenant called in a danger close strike before he got skewered! Get your ass down!"

Feliks along with every other soldier present hit the deck, many of them crawling under the BTRs and BDRMs. The orcs roared in exuberance, believing that they had cowed the Soviets and renewed their charge. A moment later everything stopped, even the shooting from the armored vehicles and the orcs looked up when they heard a shrill howling. It increased in intensity, like a freight train barreling down and then the world exploded.

Trees exploded, turning the old growth forest around them into so much tinder and shrapnel, the Soviets curling up to protect their soft spots and hoping against hope that a piece of wood wouldn't find them and end their life. There was a physical force to the explosions being so close. They shook your diaphragm, rattled your head, and savaged your eardrums. The heat washed over you in a wave, feeling like it was going to cook you, bake your skin and make it crack. Peel away like old, work leather. Feliks had thrown himself on top of the elf woman, using his body to shield her from the explosion and cupping the openings of her ears to protect her most likely sensitive hearing from the blasts. The arrow sticking out of her stomach had been cut down to a nub to avoid anything catching on it, making it possible for Feliks to shield her.

Her eyes opened briefly when Feliks threw himself over top of her, but shut tight, mouthing something in her language as the shells fell around them. Feliks felt pain in his calf like someone had hit it with a wicker branch, but he didn't dare to move. There would be over thirty two 152mm guns raining steel and hell down on this area and they were putting out a punishing rate of fire, destroying the forest around them. The barrage couldn't have lasted more than few minutes, but when it ended it was like they were in a different world.

Somehow, amazingly, no shells had fallen on them and besides the lieutenant, none of them had been killed. The old trees, possibly centuries old had been reduced to splinters, with wood, sap, and mulched foliage making a cloying, sickeningly overpowering earthy smell that filled ones mouth and made them need to spit. Of the orcs, there were just pieces. A few, miraculously had survived, but stumbled around as if drunk. Bursts from AKM rifles put them down for good.

Feliks stood and noticed the elf looking around in shock and awe, as if unable to believe and comprehend what had just happened. She seemed to look at the soldiers with a new respect, almost fear.

"One hell of a good scrap, and you go and protect the girl, I knew you liked her," said Boris grinning his metal grin. It faded quickly though. "Ah shit kid, your leg."

Feliks looked down and saw his fatigue pants ripped and his left calf bloody.

"Damn. Don't think its broken, looks nasty though," commented Feliks idly as blood dripped into his boot.

"Get Vitsin to look at that, I'll help the boys clear the trail and get us moving again."

"Thanks Boris," said Feliks limping over and finding a clear spot where he put down his helmet and sat on it.

"Looks nasty, but it's superficial. You're lucky sarge," said Vitsin finishing wrapping a bandage around Feliks's calf.

"Don't I know it," said Feliks limping around after Vitsin finished. "Thanks by the way, feels better."

"No problem, but me or someone should change those for you and soak the wound in salt water every day."

"I think I can manage that myself," said Feliks.

"No offense Comrade, but your bandaging skills look like a blind t-Rex with coordination problems did it."

"It's not _that_ bad."

"Well," said Vitsin training off.

"Leave me some pride Viktor," said Feliks, using Vitsin's first name.

"I'll try Comrade Volkov."

"Thanks Vitsin," said Feliks, limping back to the BTR and leaned against it, surveying the carnage around them. Wood splinters were everywhere and what remaining of the tree trunks standing stuck up like broken bones breaking through the skin. Feliks suddenly wanted a cigarette, but he had given that up when he had went in for special training so as to not affect his physical performance. Still, he _really_ wanted one at that moment. He settled for taking a large wood splinter from the ground and chewing on it thoughtfully like a piece of wheat.

He took took his AKM off of his shoulder and swapped out the magazine for a fresh one and chambered a round with a click clack, then switching the rifle to safe put in back over his shoulder. He looked over at the elf and found that she was looking back at him with her bright purple eyes. This time it was Feliks who was made, uncomfortable was the wrong word, but all the same he looked away from the elf. A few minutes later they had blown the tree apart blocking the trail and continued on their way.

Xxx

"Senior Lieutenant Feliks Volkov, doesn't that have a nice ring to it?" asked Boris rubbing a thumb over the new golden epaulette on Feliks' shoulder. "How the hell did you go from being a senior sergeant to a senior lieutenant anyways?"

"No idea," admitted Feliks honestly. "They said I could pick a new senior sergeant to replace myself though. Interested? You know, until you get demoted again."

"HA! Might as well jump a rank and get the better pay. Keep all these lazy bastards in line for you. So what was it exactly that you wanted to show me?"

"I was hoping you'd ask that. Let's head to the motor pool and take a look."

It had been a month since the patrol that had netted them the elf woman and been ambushed. In just a month the military presence had doubled at Base Camp, now being called Camp Zhukov after Field Marshal Zhukov from the Great Patriotic War. There were now 37 000 combat soldiers plus their support staff on the hill, bringing their strength up to about two motor rifle divisions and an armored division. That meant that they would have roughly 800-900 tanks and a little over a thousand assorted IFVs and APCs. Plus multiple regiments of artillery, both rocket and tube bringing the total Soviet personnel in camp Zhukov and the surrounding countryside at any one time to about 70 000-72 000 men. This included transport and logistic units bringing in and out supplies day and night. With such a massive influx of men, the engineering battalions practically never slept. They were constantly building roads, barracks, mess halls, hangars, depots, infirmaries, bunkers, and ever expanding the presence of camp Zhukov. Talk was of doubling the amount of divisions present again and with the amount of fresh troops pouring through, it was highly believable.

To another nation this would have been financial suicide, completely unaffordable. To a growing, large, prosperous empire like the Union in the middle of the largest arms race in history, it was a drop in the bucket for their budget to use against NATO.

They had also rush constructed an airstrip at the base of the mountain. Besides the quartet of MIG 25 interceptor reconnaissance models still factory new, they had older squadrons that were entirely MIG 17s because of their ruggedness, low fuel burn, and ability to act as ground attack craft if needed. Plus an added bonus of being able to engage...dragons at low altitude. The two 23mm and one 37mm cannons on the craft were proven able to take down and kill the dragons. They had gotten an entire fighter aviation regiment meaning that including the four MIG 25s they had about 67 planes organized into four combat squadrons and a reconnaissance group. It was a category C aviation regiment, basically a reserve regiment called up to active duty, but they would do their job and do it well. On the ground side of things, besides receiving more heavy firepower, they had also received a great deal more recon capability.

"So this is your new command huh?" asked Boris pulling himself up onto a PT 76 recon tank.

"Yup. One PT 76, One BDRM 2, two BTR60s and three UAZ 469 jeeps," rattled off Feliks.

"Damn, you're moving up quick aren't you?" said Boris, looking inside the hatch. "What do they want for you getting this anyways?"

"Well for the toys that they're giving us, we're also getting reassigned," said Feliks. "Me, you, and the rest of our section are forming a new recon detachment. We'll get vehicle crews to come along with us. I managed to get Dima and his lot in on it with us."

"Well that's good, Dima's boys are as good as any. So are we going to be rolling around with platoon strength infantry or what?"

"Not really no. The BTRs will be about half full while the rest of the space will be taken up by spare fuel, munitions and food. All in all we're looking at about eleven guys to go into villages and an interpreter. In total though we'll have about twenty two guys including the vehicle crews."

"When were you planning on telling me about this new deep recon mission?" asked Boris, feigning indignation.

"Right about now."

"Bah, young pups have no sense of time."

"Yeah, well that's because we have lots of it left."

"We've all got the same amount of time in a firefight Feliks, don't forget that and that's where _experience_ comes into play. Speaking of which, who's going to be our interpreter? Some KGB prig?"

"I don't know actually, we're supposed to go and meet with Colonel General Alexandrov in about thirty minutes."

"The head man himself?" asked Boris, for once truly surprised.

"Yup, that would be the one."

"Well best get going then, you don't keep men like that waiting," said Boris hopping off of the light tank.

It was a ten minute walk to the general's quarters, on the way to which they spent another ten having their identity confirmed by no nonsense military police officers armed with assault rifles and manning machine gun and tank armed checkpoints. The general's quarters were still a large tent, the engineers not yet having finished constructing a more permanent lodging for the commander of the 1st Gate Army as they were now being called. They had their sidearms confiscated at the door by a full section of military police and were admitted into the tent. They saw The general standing behind a large folding table with detailed maps lining every corner and unit markers dotting it. A larger map was on the back wall of the tent, and it was actually a very detailed map at that. The MIG 25s had been busy it seemed.

Radio operators lined the walls, and several staff officers were typing up reports or orders, the metallic clacking of typewriters firing like miniature machine guns. What was more astonishing than seeing such a senior officer though, was seeing the elf standing beside him, dressed in Soviet field fatigues that were obviously designed for a man and fell baggily around her frame.

Both Boris and Feliks came to attention and saluted, waiting for the general to acknowledge them. He returned the salute crisply and invited them in. Colonel General Alexandrov was a career man who had fought the fascists in the Great Patriotic War as a young officer and distinguished himself in it, rising to his current position and leading an army of the Red Army.

He was a man pushing sixty and his hair was cropped short in military fashion with a scar cutting a line down the left side of his head, parting the hair there. He had dark serious eyes and a no nonsense looking face. He also seemed to prefer combat fatigues to a dress uniform which immediately raised Feliks' opinion of him.

"Senior Lieutenant Volkov and I presume the soon to be Senior Sergeant Kotov, it's good to meet you. I see the leg is doing better?"

"Yes Comrade General, it was only superficial," answered Feliks quickly.

"Good, glad to hear it. I presume that you are familiar with the young lady at my side?" said Alexandrov, pointing to the elfin girl at his side.

"Ah yes Comrade General, but only bringing her back to camp Zhukov."

"More than that I've heard, she's told me that when your patrol was ambushed, you stayed in an exposed position under fire to get her stretcher off of your APC and later shielded her during an artillery barrage. She's been eager to meet you again," said Alexandrov.

"Yes, I'm very grateful to you Lieutenant. If you had not come along when you had, I would be dead, and I would have died again had you not protected me against the orcs," said the elf in perfect Russian, shocking Feliks. Her voice was soft, lyrical, so much so that the usually somewhat gruff Russian language sounded soft as velvet coming from her mouth. "I am also grateful for your Union's help of my village and people. When you found me, my village had been attacked and we had been forced to run. I didn't know if anyone else made it away, and then I was shot and," said the Elf trailing off and getting a distant look in her eyes for a moment. "But your General has been most generous and he sent his soldiers into the forest and drove the orcs away. In the process he freed the people from my village that were taken as slaves. He has also extended protection to all of my kin in this region. In gratitude I've offered my services as an interpreter for the Red Army and I will be accompanying you on your mission in two days. Just as my other kin will be doing the same once they reach a proficiency in your language. My name is Luella from the Village of the Hidden Glade," finished Luella, as if remembering that she had forgotten to give her name, a somewhat embarrassed look of her face.

Feliks and the indomitable Boris who was never lost for words in any given situation were silent. Boris merely munched on his cheek as he was prone to do when agitated and Feliks tried to think of a response. Thankfully the general spared him from having to do make one.

"Citizen Luella is indeed very grateful and she has a vast local knowledge of the surrounding area and customs. I also have every faith in her intelligence and ingenuity and it is because of this that I have granted her request to be personally assigned to your recon detachment. I believe I also misspoke when I called her a young lady. Miss Luella is 135 years old and from what I understand, unless killed is immortal which makes her protection of utmost importance."

If Feliks and Boris had been silent before, they were now an empty void, neither even breathing for a moment as the information sank in. This young, perpetually happy looking elfin girl was in fact 135 years old and was going to be accompanying them as their interpreter.

"Uh, yes Comrade General," said Feliks rather dumbly, not knowing really what else to say.

The meeting continued on for a few more minutes, mostly just the General outlining what they would be doing in an overall fashion, telling them that they'd get the bulk of their briefing tomorrow by his new commanding officer. As they went to leave though, something unexpected happened.

Luella came from the General's side and went up to Boris. She stood there for a moment, leaving Boris unsure of what to do and then she reached up and looped her arms around his thick neck, before standing on her toes and kissing the large man on either cheek. She said something softly in Elvish to him, leaving the big man startled and actually had made the big man flush red in the face. Then she went to Feliks and did the same, and Feliks couldn't help but stare into her bright purple eyes and he swallowed heavily.

Xxx

The next day, Captain Oleg Kedrov was doing a high level reconnaissance flight five hundred nautical miles Northwest from Camp Zhukov. Snapping pictures of anything and everything with the cameras on his MiG-25RB from 60 000 feet. He was snapping pictures of really anything and everything. Roads, hills, mountains, towns, even wildlife if he happened to see them. He had been doing this day in and day out and had to remind himself not to just idly snap pictures and look, but it truly was boring work after doing it every day for the last two weeks. However there was one thing that made him circle back for a second pass. Trucks.

They were in front of a little village and his cameras were snapping pictures of them greedily. This was huge. There was no indication of the Empire they were fighting having even _near_ the technology necessary to make such equipment. Captain Kedrov lowered himself to 40 000 feet on his second pass to get better quality pictures and there was no denying it. There were vehicles down below and soldiers with rifles interacting with the villagers in a manner very similar to what the Soviets were now doing.

Going into a hard climb, Kedrov went back up to 60 000 feet and went at the greatest speed of mach 2.83 that the MiG-25 could do without damaging its engines and made a beeline back for Camp Zhukov, forgoing the rest of his mission to bring back this game changing new development. A day after Kedrov had made his report, two full squadrons of the latest MiG-21 variants were sitting beside the MiG-17s on the runway with the rest of the regiment to follow the next day.

Xxx

"Hey Itami, what are you looking at?" asked Shino, the diminutive woman giving her superior a scathing look, expecting him to be slacking off once again.

"Huh? Oh, just thought I saw something. Must have been my imagination," answered Itami.

"Baka," muttered Shino under her breath.

AN: Fixing a few grammar mistakes and updating Soviet exchanges to be Comrade and Citizen rather than sir and Miss/Mr.

AN: Obviously I've played around with history a bit and hugely expanded the population of the USSR as well as pushing technology ahead at least a half to a full generation in some regards to the Union, and maybe two for NATO and America to make it somewhat fair. I mean F15 Eagles wouldn't find MIG 23 fighters too much of a threat when they can engage them before the MIGs even know that they're there. I'll also be playing around with performance abilities of the equipment being used so it isn't so limited by range because of fuel requirements and I will do my best to say when I do. Just note that planes like the MiG 21 will have about 2-3 times their regular airtime, so instead of just being able to be airborne for an hour and a half, it'll be closer to four. I'll do the same with their NATO counterparts and vehicles and say that they just have more fuel efficient engines than we do because of different technology streams. However the Union won't be fighting NATO. It'll be fighting medieval armies and eyeing up new land to settle and absorb. Aaaaand figuring out what to do with a modern Japan.


	2. Chapter 2

"Has the orc incursion been taken care of?" asked Colonel General Alexandrov, sipping on his tea.

"Yes sir, the GRU Spetsnaz units located their dwellings which were eliminated. 14 dwellings of village to town sizes were leveled, totaling some 4 322 dead. Of which we have another 3 219 prisoners. Mostly those that were too old to fight, too young, or what we conclude to be the female of their species."

"How are they behaving?"

"Violently sir. Several guards have been injured handling them and they are prone to anger easily. There is also a request for additional rations to be handed out as it appears that the orcs eat twice that of which a human their size would. Also additional request for extra guards, including more dogs."

"Any chance that these orcs could be allowed to leave on the condition that they would not attack either us or our elvish allies?"

"From the intelligence gathered from both human prisoners of war and our elvish allies, that is a negative sir. The orcs revolve their culture around warfare and acts of bravery. The males can not win mates, titles, or position without raiding surrounding villages and making war. Apparently they are often hired out as mercenaries."

"So I've noticed. This report, here, it says that they have a feud with the elves?"

"Yes sir. The elves we have aligned ourselves with are of the wood elf species, apparently possessing magical powers, but as of yet we have not witnessed any such proof of these assertions. The orcs see the elves as being weak and feminine, having no warrior honor. The elves by comparison are pacifists unless they act expressly to protect their villages from direct attack or themselves. They observe a live and let live policy while the orcs intimidate them and their neighbors into giving tribute, either material possessions or wealth."

"Then why attack the elves if they were paying tribute to them? Isn't that counterproductive?"

"From what we understand the elves were paying their tribute in bows, arrows, clothes, and crafts. Things they could make, food as well when they had extra, but it appears that the orcs had grown tired of that and demanded slaves. The elves being a tightly entwined community treating each other as family immediately refused. That refusal was what made the orcs attack them sir."

"I see," said Alexandrov, then sighed wearily, for once seeming his age as he allowed himself to slump in his metal folding chair. "I'm in a predicament now Vlad. My orders are clear. I am to eliminate or neutralize with extreme prejudice any native species or outpost that could or do threaten Soviet presence in the region. Once that is accomplished we will begin receiving our first waves of colonists. The elves, far from being a threat are turning into our biggest allies and they abhor violence. So long as nobody tries to kill them, they won't even so much as think of harming anyone. That and they've proven an instant sensation among the men. So not only are they not a threat, they are an indispensable asset to us in the region. The orcs on the other hand, are the opposite of that. They are violent, crude, ugly, and partake in many distasteful practices. They would attack unarmed people, rape them, kill them, and sell them as slaves. I am obliged to kill them, and yet I find that I cannot."

"Sir?"

"I was a young soldier when I fought during the great patriotic war. As an infantrymen with a company of conscripts under my command. As we chased the fascists out of the Motherland we came upon villages that they were forced to abandon. When we entered them, the thing I remember most is the absolute quiet that we would encounter. A hush that was not only physical, but seemed to fall over your soul. I'll never forget the sights I saw there. The men of the villages had either been conscripted to forced labor, into the fascists military, or else left to join the partisan groups. All that were left in many of the villages were the elderly, the sick, the lame, and women and children. When we entered those villages we found that they were all still there, every single one of them. From every tree branch, from every telephone pole, from every rafter we found them. Women, children, the elderly, they had hung them all. They had hung them and left them there without thought of mercy or burial. It made me hate them. Hate every facet of them to the point where if given the chance I would have strangled the life out of them with my bare hands and relished the chance for revenge. To kill such savage beasts that had done it, but it also made me realize something. Those were men that had done that. Ordinary men who had let themselves become evil. That had let the devil inhabit their souls. It was on that day that I swore to myself that I would never be like them. I would never fall to the depths of evil that they had."

Alexandrov took out a thick cigar and lit it with a match, as if using the familiar action and taste of cigar smoke to make him forget the memories he had made himself relive.

"I suppose that you might think I'm being a hypocrite don't you Vlad?"

"Yes sir, in a way you are. We bombed the villages indiscriminately both from the air and with artillery weapons. We killed many, most in fact of the orc noncombatants doing so. All the males of fighting age have been killed, their fields razed, and their homes destroyed. You've effectively erased them from the region sir."

"Yes, I did give those orders. I'm a killer Vlad, it's my duty and my profession. One in which I have become quite good at, however I have long established a line in the sand for myself. I ordered those strikes, because they were a threat. They were fighting us and as such I ended their ability to fight. Now, the circumstances are different. They are unarmed, unable to fight, and at my mercy. They are no longer a threat, now they are just scared infants and women. I will fight the enemies of the Union without remorse or pity while they resist. What I will not do however, is cross the line from being a killer to being a murderer and there is a difference. Because if I kill them now, because they are inconvenient to me, then I am a murderer, but worse than that I would be no better than the fascists I fought against and hated so much."

"I understand sir."

"Do you think me weak for being unwilling to carry out my orders Vlad?"

"No sir, I think that you're still the officer I followed proudly in the Great Patriotic War," said Vlad. The wizened warrant officer standing firmly at attention, a cataract white eye and vicious scar running the length of his face, a souvenir of his long service.

"Grant all requests for additional food, lodging, and security for the orcs. Also send in a request for more trained guard dogs."

"What shall I say about the matter of the orcs to Moscow sir? They were labeled in all reports as violent."

"Say that their status is still, undetermined and that we have dealt mainly with their martial cast. We need further observation to make an assessment as to their viability of coexistence."

"Yes sir, and what if they prove to be unable to coexist?"

Alexandrov sighed wearily.

"Then I do believe I will be relieved of command for refusal to carry out orders."

"I wouldn't have it any other way sir."

xxx

Despite her age that would have make her Feliks's great great grandmother, the elf Luella was as eager and energetic as a kid, pestering Boris with incessant questions about everything and seemed delighted by everything that he told her, leaning forward on the bench of the BTR, a look of almost awe and childlike glee on her face.

"What did you do when the Turks cut you off?" asked Luella eagerly, hanging off of the veteran soldier's every word.

"Well we holed up on this hill that had a view of the whole valley and we dug in. We were just an advance company for the 85th Motor Rifle Division so we didn't have a lot of heavy weapons to use, but what we did have was a lot of ammo. You see the Turks coming at us weren't trained soldiers, just a ragtag bunch of militia and they weren't very disciplined. Or really well equipped for that matter. They made a lot of noise when they moved around and they would shoot even if they had no chance of hitting us. Just give away their position like nothing. Pretty much a rabble. They rushed the hill a few times, but it was a steep one with no cover coming up. It had been raining the past few days constantly, which had turned everything into a muddy quagmire. You couldn't take ten steps without having to unlace your boots to get unstuck and depending where you stepped you would sink up to your knees. Their Tommy guns kept jamming when they fell into the mud and they couldn't come up the hill very fast at us. Kept getting stuck in the mud. It was easy enough to keep them off but there was a lot of them. I swear we were outnumbered at least twenty to one and some of them made it as close to us as me and you are right now."

"What happened next?" asked Luella, practically bursting with excitement.

"Well we managed to get a radio working by jury-rigging a couple that had gotten shot to make one of them work. After that we just kept calling in fire missions any time we saw something move. We were on that hill for about three days and by the time we got relieved we were running pretty low on ammo. Turns out we were pretty lucky actually. A few brigades of the Turkish SSR regular army had joined in the uprising and the rest of the 85th had to fight off T-34s and artillery. I think the 85th must have fought something like 8000 Turkish regulars and another three or four thousand militia. Wasn't really a fair fight though, we had the new T-55 tanks and their 105s just destroyed the Turkish armor. Without their tanks, the Turks got pushed aside like nothing."

"Did you get land and a share of the spoils for your part in the war?"

"HA! What I got was a three new teeth when some bastard smacked me in the mouth with his rifle and a promotion that I lost two weeks later because of a bar fight. No darling, I didn't get too much but a medal and a few more scars. Oh, pardoning my language miss," said Boris as if realizing once again of the female company present.

"That's alright, I don't mind. What happened in the Kingdom of Turkey? Did the nobles in their senate concede defeat and offer pledges of fealty?"

"Not exactly. You see we spent a few years fighting the rebels, doing stuff like hunting them out of the mountains, finding their supporters, and defending important things like airfields and bridges. Eventually what we ended up doing was reforming their government and training the Kurdish militias into an actual army. I'm telling you, those Kurds are some tough sons of bi-guns. Loyal too. You'd train up some of the other Turks and they'd turn on you and use the weapons you gave them against you. The Kurds on the other hand were very sympathetic to us and they liked socialism and communism. Last I heard they got their own autonomous region and they're Moscow's regional force down there, besides some of the bases on the southern coast that the navy keeps. Honestly those ports are probably why we went down there. Half my time there was spent manning a gate leading to the harbor. Got some good friends I keep in contact with down there from time to time."

"But wouldn't the lords have surrendered when you took their castles and lands?" asked Luella perplexed.

"Well at the end there we weren't fighting an organized army, and we don't have lords anymore. Or castles for that matter. Most of who we were fighting were just defected army troops and self-proclaimed warlords or bandits. They didn't really own any land or titles. Lots of the time it was just some random guy who picked up a rifle and tried to take a crack at us. Once things got stabilized, Moscow helped Turkey form a new government from community leaders and loyal army commanders. Then we let the Kurds take over for us fighting the insurgency."

Luella looked at Boris as if unable to comprehend what he had just told her.

"But the new government they picked, them must have been lords or been of good lineage. I mean, were they just minor nobles that you elevated to greater status?"

"No darling, just regular people."

Luella cocked her head quizzically to the side.

"I don't understand. Surely Colonel General Alexandrov is a lord of great standing to be given command of such a great army?"

"Nope, we don't have lords anymore at all darling and the General isn't an exception. His father was a train conductor actually. We have no dukes, no barons, no counts, and no czars. Just the people ruling themselves with the proletariat."

"But you said that Stalin, your last leader until he died was the leader of the Soviet Union. So he was your king right?"

"Well no, he was the leader of the party."

"But he held absolute power and he couldn't be asked to leave could he?"

"Well no," admitted Boris.

"And his replacement had to come from the proletariat right?"

"Well yes he did."

"And only the proletariat can vote right?"

"In a sense yeah, but it's more complicated than that."

"So then your lords elect your king for you," said Luella with a smile.

"Boris you're boring the poor girl," said Feliks glancing up from the map spread across a low foldout in the BTR.

"Well actually I find it quite interesting," said Luella.

"That's just because Boris embellishes his stories. When he first told me that story about hill 883 in Turkey he said it was ten to one. Now it's twenty to one."

"Ten, twenty, it's all the same sir, they were swarming us. Hard to keep track of how many there are in the middle of a firefight."

"You threw fire at each other? Do you have sorcerers as well?" said Luella, eyes wide.

"No, it's just what we call a small arms fight," said Boris.

"Oh, why?"

"Well..."

As Luella launched into another barrage of questions about anything and everything Soviet and beyond, Feliks had just finished plotting their course. They were to head to something called Arnus Hill to the Northwest. They had been promised a resupply run at the halfway point to their destination via Mi8 helicopters. Feliks wasn't quite sure why their route had been changed in such a last minute fashion, but he was sure that there was a good reason for it.

They were supposed to stop in at least a dozen villages along the way and garner goodwill towards the Red Army. Little things, like treating mild sicknesses, handing out little trinkets, and setting bones or mending cuts if there so happened to be the need. They'd be coming up on the first village in just a short time in fact.

"Hey Boris, we're approaching Blenheim village. Let the boys know eh?"

"Yes sir," answered Boris dutifully.

"Hey Luella, put this on," said Feliks passing the elfin girl a steel helmet.

"No," said Luella like a stubborn child, refusing to take the helmet, leaving Feliks holding it a little dumbly. "It doesn't fit right and it pinches my ears."

"You need to wear the helmet."

"No. I don't."

"Please wear the helmet."

"No," said Luella crossing her arms stubbornly. "It doesn't fit."

"Hey darling, we're just looking out for your safety. We don't want anything to happen to you and you wearing the helmet makes us feel a little better. You won't have to wear if for very long and I promise that you can take it off as soon as we're done," said Boris in a fatherly tone.

Luella regarded him for a moment with her purple eyes, pursed her lips, sighed, and took the helmet from Feliks, gingerly pushing her ears down so the helmet would fit with a grimace.

"As soon as we're done," clarified Luella.

"As soon as we're done," promised Boris.

"Alright we're here, village if four hundred meters ahead," came Dima's voice over intercom as the patrol column came to a halt.

"Alright boys and girls, everybody out," said Feliks opening a side hatch and climbing out. He held out a hand to help Luella out, but the elfin girl came out with catlike grace and dexterity, landing nimbly on her feet.

Nine of them left the patrol column in total, Feliks and his old section forming a protective cordon around Luella as they walked down the cobbled road towards the village. There were fields on either side of the road with ripe wheat, but nobody was out working them or harvesting the wheat. In fact they couldn't see anyone moving in the village at all.

The winding dirt road leading through it, was empty. The small one storey houses lining the street, each built differently but with the same materials and each facing a slightly different way. It was a disorderly looking place. Dirty looking and squalid, medieval looking, and the smell to match. Despite that though, the village was too empty. No right of hammer from a blacksmith, no haggling voices or even a child carrying a pail of water from a well.

"Somethings off sir, can't say it's a danger to us, but I say we stay ready to make a run back to the patrol group," whispered Boris into Feliks's ear.

"Agreed," said Feliks, thumb hovering above the safety of his AKM.

"We need to meet with the village elder before we visit any businesses or try to pass through since we're outsiders. It's a courtesy and a tradition to bring a gift when you visit. It doesn't have to be real big, but it helps," said Luella.

"Abram may I have the gift basket please?" asked Luella.

"Yes ma'am," answered the young marksman, handing Luella a wicker basket full of vodka, caviar, spices, and a bolt of expensive cloth.

It was Boris who knocked on the door, and true to his soldiery nature, knocked like he intended to knock the door down. A viewing hole opened on the door and an eye peered out from within.

"State yur business and git on with it."

"Hello and good day to you sir. My name is Luella and I am an elf of the village hidden in the glade. I am here on behalf of the Red Army of the Soviet Union and we come bearing gifts to pay homage to the elder."

"If ya want ta pass ya can, but ye best be quick about it. The Empire's gonna be 'ere sum time taday . They want ta get ta deserter in the tavern, been in there past two days straight." With that the viewing hole closed and they were left facing an empty door. Luella, rather surprised set down the gift basket and relayed what had been said to Feliks and his men.

"So Sergeant, what's your take? See who this deserter is and ambush the Empire when they come or just continue on our way and ignore it?"

"Well sir, I would say that we just keep going. Stay outta trouble and stay undetected as much as possible. No sense going looking for trouble when there's plenty looking for us sir."

"A sensible assessment Sergeant," granted Feliks. "But I'm curious about this now."

"We're checking out the tavern then sir?" asked Boris like a man used to a lifetime of officers doing stupid things.

"Indeed Sergeant."

"Alright sir, where is it?"

"I don't know actually," admitted Feliks. "Luella where's the tavern?"

"It's the building with the sign of an ale tankard hanging from the signpost and empty casks out front," said Luella helpfully and ever cheerful, pointing to a building directly across the street.

"Oh. Well that's easy," said Feliks.

The tavern was dank and smelled of piss and alcohol with a dirt floor and a thatched roof. Feliks allowed himself a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light before he proceeded in. There were a few sullenly quiet men who regarded them suspiciously from the dark corners of the room and a barmaid with a dirty and stained dress with her better years behind her that didn't even bother to look up as they came in. Feliks took the lead, heading for a shiny figure sitting up at the counter with countless empty tankards and cups in front of him.

The man was dressed in armor, steel from the looks of it but of a more Gothic European influenced design than a Roman one. Despite that it looked light and the mans silver hair fell loosely about his face, feminine in a way, but it was matted together with sweat and dirt. Sticking to his face and giving the impression that the man had not been acquainted with a bath in quite a long while. A longsword of noticeably superior quality hung from his hip, swaying freely as the man took several long swallows of ale before laying his head back down on the countertop, holding jealously onto his cup as if he let go someone would steal it and he would lose it forever. Despite his silver hair, the man looked quite young which was rather surprising. He would have been maybe twenty with a slender face and fine cheekbones. His arms were muscular though, no doubt from long hours of training and using his sword.

"Excuse me sir, I'm a translator for the Red Army and I would-"

"Fuck off then I'm busy!" said the man turning around, throwing a cup at Luella who ducked it nimbly. Except he wasn't a man, unless he was a man with a high voice, breasts, and a surly disposition. The last one wouldn't have raised too many issues, but the first would have raised many questions. "Fuckin elves, always doin...doin...fucking elves," slurred the woman setting her head back down on the counter.

"A woman soldier?" said Boris more in surprise than anything. The man may have been a veteran soldier who's seen it all, but what he had not seen was a woman in a professional army.

"A mercenary," clarified Luella helpfully. "See the armor? That crest with the cloud and crossed swords is the symbol of the Skyraiders company. Dragon riders. It's a foreign mercenary band, and expensive, but very good. It draws its members from the Messalon city states mostly, but it will also buy orphans to train and recruit former soldiers who have the skill. Of all the mercenary dragon rider bands, the Skyraiders are one of the best."

"Ask her why she's here," said Feliks.

"She'll throw another cup at me," protested the elf, purple eyes eying the silver haired mercenary with apprehension.

"That's why you've got the helmet darling," said Boris with a grin, but gave a reassuring pat on the elf's shoulder.

"Are you sure?"

"We'll be right here if you need us darling. Don't worry, we aren't going to let anything happen to you."

Taking a deep breath, Luella walked up to the counter and took out a handful of silver coins and put them in from of the young silver haired woman. The woman raised her head at the clink of silver and looked at Luella with bloodshot blue eyes.

"Whadda you want?"

"I want to ask you some questions and I'll pay you a silver coin for each one you answer if you agree to my terms," said the wood elf neutrally.

"Silver? Just for talking to ya?"

"Yes."

"Alright, I'll take your money little elf. What's your first one?"

"I would like to know what you're doing here," answered Luella politely.

"Drinkin," answered the woman taking a silver coin.

"Yes I can see that. Forgive me for asking, but why are you drinking?"

"To forget everything," answered the woman taking another coin.

Luella looked uncertainly to Feliks and Boris who gave an encouraging gesture to continue.

"What are you trying to forget?" asked Luella, visibly becoming nervous when the woman glared at her.

"Oh I dunno, how bout the fact most of my friends and men got fuckin slaughtered trying to retake Mt. Rubicon by some kinda fuckin magic I ain't ever heard of? Or how bout the fact that rather than die like a proper Skyriader I ran and now I'm a deserter? Or how bout the fact that the Empire is comin to get me now too for being a coward? Is dat a good reason ta drink?"

"Couldn't you fly away?"

"HA! Maximus is drunker than I am out back. Not that it'd make a lotta difference anyways. I'm a coward. A fucking deserter," said the woman, drawing the word out like it was some sort of splinter from a wound. She punctuated her sentence by drinking more ale. "If the Empire doesn't run me through, the Skyraiders will. Can't go home. No money to hide. Can't look for work without getting found. Not a damned thing I can do 'cept die. Tired of running anyways. Thanks for the silver by the way," said the woman taking the handful of silver. She had sounded morose at the end, defeated like she wanted continue on but felt the odds stacked against her. Luella put another coin of the table.

"Whaddya want ta know now?"

"What is your name?"

"Ianthe. Ianthe, daughter of Acamus and captain of dead men."

"It is a beautiful name, violet flower. I think it suits you well."

"Thanks, but I think silver suits me better elf," answered the mercenary taking the proffered coin. "Yeah, yeah, ere you go," said Ianthe giving the barkeep the coin who was giving her an angry glare.

"You owe a lot more than that," said the bearded man gruffly. "You've been here two days, either pay up or get out!"

"Gods, don't fuckin yell, my head is splitting," moaned Ianthe, giving several more coins to the barkeep. "What?" questioned the mercenary when the barkeep just kept glaring.

"Your dragon has drank at least seven casks, and eaten one of my goats."

"Ah, forgot to feed him. Sorry bout that. Here," said Ianthe pushing all the silver coins she had just received towards the barkeep.

"That's not enough."

"Gods, it's just booze, that's silver I'm giving you. Don't be a greedy cunt. I could damn near buy the place for that."

"You have to pay for lodging and damages as well."

"But I didn't rent a room."

"You still slept in the tavern," said the barkeep firmly.

"Fine. Here," spat Ianthe dumping out a few copper and silver pieces from her coin purse, emptying it onto the counter. "Won't matter anyways, I'll be dead by dusk." With that, Ianthe put her head on the counter and belched loudly. Luella put a sympathetic hand on the woman's shoulder, kindhearted empathy written all over her face. This young woman was going to die for refusing to die in hopeless violence. It wasn't fair and there wasn't anything she could do to help her. An idea suddenly formed In Luella's mind like a spark that took to flame.

There wasn't anything _she_ could do about it, but there was others who could.

"So what did she say?" asked Feliks.

"She said that she fled from the battle at Mt. Rubicon, which is Camp Zhukov and she is going to be killed for it. Also though, the reason that the villagers are all hiding is because the Empire is going to kill them all and burn this village to the ground to punish them for helping them."

"They're going to kill her and she's just sitting here getting drunk?" asked Feliks somewhat incredulous.

"It's what I'd do sir," said Boris.

"Damn. And you're sure that they're going to burn this village to the ground?"

"Yes, and kill everyone here," said Luella.

"Well shit. Boris get the men together and bring the column up, looks like we get to play hero. We'll hide in the forest on either side of the road and catch them in a crossfire when they show up outside the village."

"How long do you think we've got sir?"

"Well I was going to say at least a couple of hours, but looks like right now," said Feliks a note of Apprehension creeping into his voice as trumpets sounded very near to the entrance of the tavern. The silver haired woman cursed loudly and wrapped her arms around her head in response.

"Shit," exclaimed Boris gruffly, grabbing Luella and following Feliks up the stairs to the landing overlooking the main floor. "Boys are smart, they'll take cover and won't shoot unless we do," said Boris, setting up the bipod for the RPD. They watched a troupe of Empire soldiers march into the tavern in their crimson livery with military discipline, and bullying arrogance.

Xxx

"Captain Ianthe, stand and be recognized," said the Captain Octavian of the Empires mounted legionnaires.

Ianthe heard him as if through a fog, opening her eyes slowly and groaning, hugging the bar as she stood, careful to keep her footing despite the way the room seemed to tilt back and forth. She thought that she may be sick, nausea rising from her stomach to her throat, but she kept it there.

"You looking for me?" asked Ianthe, meaning to point to herself, but instead hitting her hand off of her breast plate.

"Yes. You stand accused of breaking contract, running in the face of the enemy, and desertion. You are to be taken into custody and crucified to be made an example of," said Octavian.

"Oh yeah? Well, you ain't gonna take me so long as I've got steel," said Ianthe drawing her longsword with a flourish. It wasn't made of steel, it was far too shiny for that and it glimmered balefully in the dim light of the tavern. The blade was like liquid silver, sleek and dangerous, catching every iota of light and reflecting it tenfold as the shiny metal sang through the air. She swung it around gracefully for a few figure eights, but then the blade flew from her grasp and clattered on the floor. "Shit," said Ianthe dumbly, staring at the sword as if the six feet it had gone was far too far to go and retrieve it. With her blade hopelessly lost, she merely just stared at it for a time.

"Can I get that?"

"It wouldn't matter if you did. You're drunk and as such are in no position to resist. Come peacefully and we will not make your journey uncomfortable."

"First of all, I am not drunk. Second of all, go fuck yourself."

"Can you even tell the time?"

"Course I can," said Ianthe indignantly. She turned to an ornamental sundial set on the wall and pointed with seething vehemence. "I am not fucking drunk," spat out Ianthe like she would like nothing better than to rip the ornament from the wall and smash it to pieces.

"Just seize her," said Octavian wearily.

"Wait," said Ianthe holding up a hand. Then, she turned to the bar counter and tried to leap over, but failed, merely bouncing off of the ledge. On the second attempt she managed to get on top, knocking off all of her cups and rolled onto the other side with a clatter of metal and armor. Several of the legionnaires laughed at that. Slowly, Ianthe got to her feet, holding onto the bar counter to keep her footing with one hand, and a new cup of ale in the other.

"Are you done yet?"

"One more thing," said Ianthe.

"And what is that?" asked Octavian irritably.

Instead of answering Ianthe brought her fingers to her mouth and took in a deep breath before letting out a loud, long, and shrill whistle. There was the muffled sound of wood splintering out behind the tavern and a sound like something heavy was scraping on the outside of the tavern.

"Maximus," said Ianthe a moment before the back wall of the Tavern caved in and an angry, drunk, and large dragon came barging in. It was a large thing, its shoulders at least twenty two hands high with deep blue scales and malevolent red eyes. The dragon smacked its jaws together with a hideous clash of teeth and growled low. The legionnaires backed up, drawing their swords and seeing them as prey, the dragon charged with explosive force.

Unfortunately being drunk as the dragon was, it had poor coordination and ran headfirst into the main support beam of the tavern that was as large as an oak tree. The whole building shook from the impact, causing straw to fall from the roof and cracking the beam, but the dragon crumpled, moaning piteously for a creature of its size as its wings wrapped around its head.

"Gods dammit Maximus," said Ianthe a moment before a quartet of Empire soldiers grabbed her.

Xxx

"Now?" asked Boris, his voice barely more than a murmur.

"Now," agreed Feliks as he squeezed the trigger of his AKM, watching the soldier he was aiming at jerk and fall as the chatter of the Kalashnikov started, filling the tavern with noise, but soon was drowned out as the RPD chewed through its rounds and spit out piles of brass.

There was confusion, the soldiers not knowing what was happening or what was making the noise. They brought their shields up and held their swords ready, too surprised or stunned to do much else. The patrons in the tavern made warding gestures, believing some evil magic was at work and began praying to a panoply of different gods.

Horses whinnied in terror outside as small arms began crackling outside of the tavern, the heavy thudding of the KPVT machine guns cutting even through the continuous cacophony of the RPD. Out of the corner of his eye, Feliks could see Luella covering her ears with both hands and her eyes shut tight. The elfin girl was terrified of conflict and would go to any length to avoid it, so when confronted with it she had no idea what to do.

"Clear," said Boris, smoke wafting from the end of the barrel of his RPD when the last legionnaire in the tavern was a bullet riddled corpse. There was a couple short bursts of weapons fire outside after he said that, but it ended just as quickly.

"Luella are you alright?" asked Feliks, helping the elfin girl to her feet.

"Yes...yes, I think so. Just a little shaken," answered the small elfin girl, averting her eyes from the dead bodies littering the tavern. Even so, her boots squelched in the blood muddying the floor of the tavern.

"Sir, dragon's getting up," warned Boris swinging his RPD towards the draconian reptile as it once again rose to its full height snarling. It was a deep, powerful sound that seemed impossibly loud for the effort that the beast was putting into it. The RPD while a menacing and dangerous weapon against most things, was a mere annoyance to the creature.

"That won't do anything unless you hit it in the eyes, we need the KPVT's within 200m to penetrate it," Feliks said, slowly backing up. Careful not to make any sudden movements while keeping himself looking as big as possible to deter an attack.

"Makes me feel better."

"It' going to eat us, It's going to eat us," said Luella squeakily, hiding behind Boris. The dragon took a step towards them, it's large foot sinking into the bloody sodden soil.

From behind the bar, walking on unsteady legs was the woman in armor with brilliant silver hair. She stumbled towards the dragon which turned and regarded her with its slitted red eyes. The woman, undeterred continued on and when the dragon opened its mouth and growled lowly at her, she brought back her fist and punched it hard with a steel covered fist. Then proceeded to yell at it and judging by how large Luella's eyes got and the fact that she covered her mouth, must have been a very long and profanity filled rant.

The dragon cowed like a whipped dog, hunching down so its head touched the ground and let out what could have only been a whine.

"Lieutenant are you alright si-ahh!" yelped Vitsin, the young medic retreating behind Boris at the sight of the dragon.

"Why is everyone hiding behind me?" asked Boris, looking back at both the elf and young medic behind him.

"You're the biggest," said Luella bluntly, to which Vitsin nodded, then began shaking his head when he saw the look of his senior sergeants face.

"Junior sergeant, how many dead outside?" asked Feliks.

"Oh, um about fourteen men all told sir. But uh, seven went inside here."

"I see that," said Feliks. "Not enough men to raze a village though," continued Feliks half to himself. "I want Dima's men to secure the north end of the village until we're ready to move again, and watch for anyone else arriving. I'm expecting more trouble."

"Yes sir," said Vitsin, coming to a vague approximation of attention before rushing out of the door, eager to be away from the dragon.

"Shall we leave the dragon sir?" asked Boris, eyeing the beast with apprehension.

"Yes, I think that we should."

An hour later, Feliks and Boris were poring over a map of the region spread out on the hood of a UAZ jeep at the north end of the village deciding what to do next.

"If we keep moving ahead in a straight line hitting every village like command wants us to, we're bound to get ambushed at one of them," said Feliks tracing their route. "Word will get around about us traveling. A military convoy in Russia would still draw attention however brief, but we're moving in vehicles that nobody's ever seen and as you can see," said Feliks gesturing towards the villagers gathered at what they presumed to be a safe distance. "We're something like celebrities."

"Could ask for reconnaissance flights from camp Zhukov," said Boris thoughtfully. Get a MiG 17 to circle our path and check it for us. Wouldn't take them to long to do that."

"We could do that too, but a MiG would be really noticeable and I doubt that we're going to be getting one every single day to scout out our route. We could send a UAZ farther ahead, they're faster and good on gas, but if a dragon shows up or it gets a flat tire then we have the problem of stranded troops that can't defend themselves meaning we'll have to rush ahead to help, or in the case of a dragon they get eaten."

"So, we stick to what we've been doing then? PT 76 in front with jeeps in the middle only crewed by drivers? Least if we keep doing it like that we can fight our way out of any trouble. Not like we can move slow, not if we want to keep command's timetable sir."

"Yeah, I guess we'll just have to be a lot more careful next time we go into a village, take the vehicles with us. Even if it does scare the locals," said Feliks. "Given more time I would be more cautious, move cross country. Do this properly but the General is basically demanding that we hit one of these villages every day."

"What if we had a dragon?"

Both men looked back with a start, the 'young' elfin girl had come up as silently as the wind behind them.

"What?" asked Feliks.

"What if we had a dragon?" repeated Luella. "The people here are used to seeing them and the Empire wouldn't think twice about seeing one in the sky. They use them all the time for carrying messages and looking for bandits."

"We don't have any though, and the Union doesn't hire mercenaries," said Feliks.

"You don't use auxiliaries or mercenaries?" asked Luella surprised.

"No, only professional soldierly."

"Well we use the Azerbaijanis, basically auxiliaries sir," said Boris. "Personally I think that it's a good idea, if we can get one."

"The woman at the inn was a mercenary and she's looking for work," added Luella.

"I don't know how I feel about a woman soldier," said Feliks. "Sergeant you're more used to this. What do you say we do?"

"Well sir, she's not likely to betray us if those troops came to kill her, especially if we're her paycheck. We hired some tribes once in a while in Turkey to fight for us, and they'd do it so long as you kept paying them. It's not a horse though, that dragon she's riding so it can't just graze when we stop which means it'll have to hunt. Obviously because we can't feed the thing. Despite all of that sir, I say we do it. Good recon keeps men alive and having aviation on call any time we want is a hell of a good thing sir. Besides, she'll help with the scenery," said Boris with a grin revealing metal teeth.

"Makes you feel young again sergeant?"

"Years younger sir."

"I don't understand, she is pretty for a human, but how will she improve the scenery?" asked Luella perplexed.

"Darling that's why we love you," said Boris chuckling.

"I love you both as well," said Luella.

"Oh. Thank you darling that means a lot," said Boris, the old veteran caught off guard.

"It's almost dark," I say that we wait till morning before heading out. Besides, our new guide is probably still drunk," said Feliks.

Xxx

Ianthe woke groggily with a screaming headache in the middle of the street curled up next to Maximus. The first thing she was aware of, was the pain in her head. The second was that she was incredibly thirsty and the third was that she stunk.

Rising wearily, the blue light of early morning guiding her way the mercenary went to a watering trough meant for horses and proceeded about the process of bathing, stripping away the heavy armor that she had been wearing for some reason. The last couple of days were just a drunken blur and she didn't remember much. It was about this time that Ianthe noticed the large patches of bloody dirt in front of the tavern.

"Ah shit, I'll have to pay for it if they lost any livestock," said Ianthe to herself. Checking her coin purse, her spirits immediately fell. "Ha. Out of money. Guess it's cut and run then. The gods must hate me. I knew I should have left a better offering before leaving Messalon. Not that I can fucking go back there," grumbled Ianthe. She finished bathing and grabbed a fresh set of clothes from her saddle bags. A new under suit for her armor, black form fitting fabric with a woolen vest over top to prevent chafing and drake skin pants.

"Excuse me, Captain Ianthe?"

"Yes?" answered Ianthe turning, hand on the hilt of her sword. She was startled to find an elf dressed in mottled colored clothing and two men dressed the same holding strange staves of wood and metal. The blood drained from Ianthe's face as she recognized the dress. These were the same soldiers who had slaughtered an entire army at Mt. Rubicon.

"Lieutenant Volkin is wishing to inquire about your services."

"M-my services?" asked Ianthe, merely giving herself time to think. These people already knew who she was and if their staves were anything like the ones that the metal behemoths had possessed they could kill her without any effort at all.

"Yes. He wishes to know how much it would cost to hire you and have you act as a scout for us. We don't have any food for your mount, but we would be willing to pay quite well for your services."

"How much is quite well?" asked Ianthe. She watched the blonde wood elf talk to the young man at her side for a moment in a strange language before answering her.

"He wishes to know how much you would want."

"Sixty silver pieces up front. If my services go beyond two months then it's extra. Plus all of my food, lodging and expenses to be taken care of besides. Also fair shares of battle spoils and promise of two hundred silvers in case of severe injury like loss of a limb or an eye" said Ianthe settling into negotiations. It was an outrageously high price to pay for a single mercenary, even a draconian cavalry mercenary. Most peasant families could get by on two to three silvers a month, especially when a mug of ale cost only five coppers. One silver if they had a small family and grew their own food. What she had asked for would have bought them at least two or three dragon mercenaries, more if they agreed to the battle spoils and severance pay. Then again, a dragon itself was worth a great deal of money.

"Lieutenant Volkin finds your offer agreeable. However he wishes to give you a gold coin to keep your services until they are no longer required," said the elf. Ianthe's mouth opened in shock.

"W...what?"

"The Lieutenant wishes for you to be ready to move in twenty minutes," said Luella handing Ianthe a gold coin. Ianthe took it numbly, mouth still half agape. A gold coin was worth a hundred silvers. She could buy a small hut, stable, and the plot of land if it was in a village like this with it. Not that she would ever settle in a dung heap like Blenheim.

"Yes. Yes, I will be ready to move. Tell the young lord that I will serve him faithfully and my sword is his to command while I am under his employ," said Ianthe.

"That's very kind, but the Lieutenant isn't a lord, they don't have them," said the Elf, not relaying the message to the mottled men.

"They don't have lords?" asked Ianthe as if the elf had just told her that moon was going to fall from the sky.

"No. Even their General is of common birth and he commands a vast army. They're from the other side of the gate from a land called the Soviet Union. They also call themselves the Red Army."

"So, they are the ones who massacred the army of Legatus Severus," mused the mercenary with false candor. hiding a quiet and solemn mood settling over her, drowning out her exuberance at the wealth. The men she would be working for would be of the army that had butchered her mercenary company, her comrades, her friends. She was a mercenary so switching sides was common when the money ran out, but what would her friends think of her for joining the ones responsible for killing them? More importantly, did she have a choice? They would most likely kill her if she reneged on their deal now.

"They are, but they responded only in defense after a legion was sent through the gate to their lands to conquer them."

"Fair enough then eh? Go to war expect there to be a good chance at dying I suppose. No sense getting upset about it. Tell the lord, um, lieutenant that I'll be ready to move in ten minutes."

"Of course," said Luella cheerily. "I'm happy that you'll be traveling with us Ianthe."

"How do you know my name anyways? Were you guys, um, looking for me after the battle at Mt. Rubicon?" asked the silver haired mercenary somewhat hesitantly.

"Oh no, you told me yesterday in the tavern, but you were drunk."

"Oh yeah," said Ianthe slowly as if her memory was returning to her. "There were...Empire soldiers there right?"

"Yes, but Lieutenant Volkin and his men killed them all."

"Really? All of them? How many did they lose doing that? Must have been at least 20 of them for a normal patrol squad."

"They didn't lose anyone, and they killed 21 of them. Anyways we'll be waiting for you at the north end of the village by the vehicles. See you soon!"

Ianthe watched them go and sighed wearily, going to Maximus who was waking up, letting out a blast of hot air in a snort and letting out a low groan. Keeping his slitted eyes firmly closes against the morning light.

"That's what you get for drinking so much. Ah boy, what have we gotten ourselves into Maximus?" asked Ianthe rubbing the dragon on the snout. "Best to be on the winning side anyways, and gold fits _much_ better than silver." Flicking the coin into the air, she watched it spin end over end, catching the light of the sun, before snatching it out of the air and then putting it into her pouch. Whatever her friends may have thought of her, money was money and it was preferable to dying. Much more preferable.

Xxx

Feliks was riding on the roof of the BTR, watching for the mercenary Ianthe to come back into view. Ever since picking her up the other day she had proved to be well worth the money. She would fly around and ahead of the convoy scouting for anything that could potentially be a threat. They had found one small patrol, only four men and Feliks was surprised at her discipline for a mercenary. Instead of rushing in for an easy kill to loot the bodies of any valuables, she had come back to the patrol group and made a report, asking for further instructions. When they stopped for the night she had left briefly to hunt for food for her dragon. The bloody mouth of the beast immediately told of a successful hunt upon its return.

Everyone had wanted a picture with the dragon, so they had taken time to quickly arrange the vehicles and men so that it could all be in the shot. Several of the men had asked multiple times if it was safe to stand close to the dragon and after reassurances from the mercenary via Luella some of the braver ones had even sat on the creature for the picture. Needless to say, as soon as the dragon made as if to stand up or even let out a grumble, the men had scattered like startled rabbits, much to the amusement of the mercenary.

The mercenary seemed to have a natural gift for languages, after only a day she knew a few basic phrases in Russian, mostly for food or water or to be handed something. She had learned one word quickly though, 'enemy'. She didn't say it too often but when she did she said it with breathless anticipation and urgency.

The land that they were traveling through seemed to come straight out of a fantasy novel. Besides the somewhat modern road, the land, unless right by a village, was not developed in the slightest, leaving either large fields overrun with shrubs, tall grass, and bushes, bordering the road. Or else forests that had probably never had a human being wander through them, thick with intertwining roots as thick as his thigh with no two trees the same. There was no wildlife though, too startled by the sight and sound of the Soviet vehicles to make their presences known, survival instincts taking over where knowledge was lacking.

Feliks ran a hand through his dark red hair, checking over the map again. Their final destination was a hill some four hundred nautical miles to the north yet. The locals called it Alnus hill, but something didn't feel right about it. They were supposed to head South initially, but the day before they were to leave they were sent in the exact opposite direction and given new coordinates. There was something command wanted them to see, or something they wanted them to find out. It screamed of secrecy, something Feliks had transferred to the regular army to avoid. Whatever it was it was going to be dangerous and possibly lethal to him and his men. He would slow their advance when they got within a hundred nautical miles of the hill. They'd travel cross country, off the main roads and out of sight. It would take longer, but every instinct in him was screaming danger by looking at that hill.

A shadow passed over him and Feliks looked up, seeing Ianthe and her dragon Maximus swoop up overhead, then pass low, matching speed with the convoy. Feliks watched Ianthe perform her stunt again, balancing standing up on her mount after unhooking her tether, before jumping off and onto the roof of the BTR next to Feliks. Her steel armor shining brilliantly in the noon day light. The dragon sped up, before landing on top of the PT 76 at the lead of the column, folding its wings in on itself. The light tank sinking visibly lower on its suspension with the added weight of the dragon.

"Money," said Ianthe in her quick cadenced accent. The look on Feliks's face made her shake her head and her face creased in concentration before speaking again. "Enemy money," corrected the mercenary, pointing ahead of the column into the distance.

"I understand," said Feliks using his limited knowledge of the local language, bringing a quick smile from the mercenary. Despite the medieval conditions of the world, her teeth were still white and strong. The mercenary was also warmly dressed despite the fact that it was a rather mild day with a heavy woolen vest below her breastplate. Made sense though, where she would be at, it could be as much as ten degrees centigrade colder than on the ground, plus the wind would bite hard. Opening the hatch, Feliks slid into the BTR, Ianthe following close behind. However, as she was lowering herself down, the BTR hit a large bump in the road causing her to lose her footing. She yelped as she slipped and was almost drawn under the heavy duty wheels of the APC, but Feliks lunged out and hooked his arms under her armpits.

The metal edges of her armor dug into his arms, while hers wrapped quickly around his neck, her feet kicking in empty air. Practically nose to nose with the girl, he was almost pulled out of the BTR himself holding her up and away from the spinning wheels. Feliks pulled and leaned back into the BTR, quickly finding himself aided by the Boris, the large man hauling them in as if they weighed no more than a sack of grain. Feliks and Ianthe fell heavily to the floor, the metal clad mercenary falling on top of him.

Resigning himself to the bruises he would get, Feliks saw the pale face of the mercenary above him, color quickly returning to her cheeks.

"Good?" asked Feliks. Ianthe smiled, and did a two fingered gestured which Feliks had been told meant yes, or good.

"Next time sir, I suggest we stop the column when the lady gets back so she doesn't become roadkill," said Boris, helping both of them into their seats.

"Agreed," said Feliks, rubbing his shoulder where the metal breastplate had dug in. "Ill take in your age old wisdom I suppose."

"Yes sir, not fair that I can't rib you now that you're an officer sir."

"Sure you can," said Feliks. "We're not in front of the men."

"Nah, too disrespectful sir. Can't teach an old dog new tricks. So why is she back anyways?"

"Well she says that there's enemy money ahead."

"Really?" asked Boris.

"Ianthe says that there's a tax collectors caravan ahead, with twice the normal amount of guards which means that it's carrying a lot of money," said Luella, quickly translating for the mercenary.

"Raising funds to form a new army maybe?" said Feliks.

"Oh sounds likely what's going on to me," added Boris.

"The Empire sent mostly mercenaries to the battle of Mt. Rubicon," added Luella. "Apparently they sent most of their regular army to a site further north, but I'm not sure where, along with the armies of the Allied Kingdoms."

"There's been heavy fighting in the North?" asked Feliks surprised.

"Yes. In fact from what I've heard at least twice the number of soldiers were mustered in the Northern Region than the Southern Region."

"Rebellion?" queried Feliks.

"I don't think so. I've heard some of the merchants we've met talking about a holy site that they were sent to try and retake. They said it was some kind of mountain or hill."

"Alnus Hill?" said Feliks with sudden avid interest.

"Yes, that was the name, Alnus hill. They say it's of the same religious standing as Mt. Rubicon. How did you know the name?"

"Because, that's where we're headed and if what you've told me is true then there may well be an army of some 300 000 there."

"Well between 200 and 300 thousand combined Empire and Kingdom forces," clarified the elf helpfully. "But with Ianthe with us now, we won't have to worry about running into them without us knowing." 

The silver haired mercenary perked up at the mention of her name, looking between the elf and Soviet officer quickly, obviously wanting to know what they were talking about.

"About the money though, we're sure that it's going to be used to hire more mercenaries or pay soldiers? I don't feel quite right being a highway bandit," asked Boris

"Yes. My village's dealings with merchants and the surrounding townsfolk over the years let us know the habits of the Empire's tax collectors. They only come in the spring once a year, any more than that is when the Empire needs additional funds to fund their wars."

"Well then, that would make it our patriotic duty to make sure that the money in that caravan never reaches its destination wouldn't it?" asked Feliks.

"I believe that it would be sir," agreed Boris.

Xxx

Luicius, Gaius the Third was a portly man of middling years and a middling bureaucrat in the Empire. The taxes had increased dramatically in the last few months, meaning that they were practically stripping these villages dry and the villagers were none too happy about it. It merited, no, necessitated the increased guard for his caravan. The dozen mounted legionnaires surrounding his caravan were meant as both a deterrent to local bandits and angry citizenry alike. There were to hit as many villages as possible, then head to the province's municipal headquarters to deposit the funds, then head out again to do it all over again. As many times as they could before the region was sucked dry and the Empire instituted a scorched earth policy to prevent the advance of a foreign army.

The army sent to Mt. Rubicon had contained a small contingent of the Empire's troops, but it had been composed mostly of auxiliaries and mercenaries. Reports were that that army had been completely decimated and as such another one needed to be raised in short order. The benefit being that since it was mostly mercenaries lost, it was no great defeat for the Empire in terms of manpower or equipment. Indeed, most of the money spent could be reimbursed now, because they could merely seize it from the skeletal remains of the mercenary companies and organizations. Those funds would now be used to hire even more mercenaries, from different companies obviously, to use against the forces arrayed against them at Mt. Rubicon. To who or what those forces were, Gaius did not know, but surely they were spent after fighting such a great army as had been sent against them?

Gaius reached down and opened one of the many strong boxes at his feet. He opened it with a sense of giddy excitement as the soft shine of silver washed over him. He reached in and took out a few coins, putting them within the pockets of his finely made tunic.

Every tax collector within the Empire took a little bit of the Imperial wealth for themselves and Gaius was no different. It was called leakage, and tolerated if not condoned by many of his peers. There was no reason to feel guilty when everyone had their hand in the cookie jar.

So enraptured was Gaius with the silver in his lap that he didn't notice that his carriage had come to a stop until he heard the gruff voice of his driver commanding someone to clear the road.

Gaius wasn't overly concerned by that. He had at least a dozen Imperial legionnaires with him besides his own half-dozen retainers, all well skilled with their weapons. No doubt it was some peasant who had broken the axle or wheel of their cart. They'd be moved aside in short order so that their betters could continue on their way.

The first sound was a loud _crack_ that reverberated several times before it faded away, but before the last echo had disappeared, leaving Gaius looking around in confusion, a barrage like firecrackers erupted all around. But this was louder, more forceful, accompanied by the terrified whinnies of pain from horses, and frightened, pained cries torn from bloody throats.

Gaius had his hands up, instinctively around his head to protect himself and cried out when something passed through his carriage leaving a neat hole in either side of it, save for a few splinters of wood. It hissed as it passed, like a serpent. The cacophony from outside lasted only a few moments, but it felt like hours to Gaius inside of the carriage, cowering amongst the satin furnishings, pulling his voluminous robes about his head like a child with their bedding.

It took minutes after the sounds stopped before Gaius worked up the courage to leave the safety of the carriage floor to look outside. Rising slowly from his position on the floor, Gaius pulled back the satin curtain on his window slowly, and screamed when he saw a being with steel teeth grinning at him.

Xxx

"That is a lot of money," said Boris whistling slowly. "Think we should take some?"

"Not a coin sergeant," said Feliks closing the strongbox and putting it in a pile with the other. The rest of his men, the ones who hadn't set up a perimeter were stripping the dead guards of swords and extra armor from the saddlebags of their dead mounts. Souvenirs to take home no doubt, with a few of them even swinging the blades around experimentally.

Vitsin looked particularly enthused, the blonde medic even doing a flourish with a blade before it flew from his hand, causing Grekov to chastise him rather colorfully for a moment, before realizing that there was a lady in the form of a petite elf present and censored his speech accordingly.

Regardless though they were having fun which was important, gave them a chance to unwind and relax. They hadn't been in any real danger in any of their engagements, well, save for the dragon in the tavern, but his men had still killed. They were young, proud, macho, and wouldn't say it was bothering them, but he could see it in the way they stared at the bodies of the dead Imperial soldiers that they were disturbed with it to some degree. Many maybe trying to moralize it, or perhaps angry at themselves for feeling bad about it to begin with.

They had been blooded together though and these men would be living together every moment of every day for the foreseeable future. Those combined things would see them become family to each other and they would help each other through it, talk about it when they thought no one else could hear their doubts and grow closer and stronger as a result. They would do that if they remained a healthy functioning unit. It was when they broke down and the unit quit working as a team that things would get toxic, but it was Feliks' and Boris' job to make sure that didn't happen.

"Yes sir," answered the veteran dutifully, but watching the strongbox all the same. "You might have some trouble with that one though," added Boris tilting his head in the direction of the silver haired mercenary eying the money hungrily from an oak tree not too far away.

"I suppose I did say something about giving a share of war spoils," said Feliks.

"So she's getting some then I take it sir?"

"Of course sergeant, don't you know? We serve from patriotic duty and love of the Motherland. Our duty and satisfaction of our service is all the payment we need. She serves for empty and shallow capitalistic reasons so she needs cold and empty silver coins to fill her empty soul."

"If I can have some silver I will put on a top hat, open a factory, and become the most oppressive capitalist you've ever seen," said Boris wryly.

Feigning shock, Feliks held a strongbox to his chest and pantomimed deep hurt.

"Comrade! To sell out our glorious socialist undertaking is just, good heavens! The scandal!"

"Don't quit the army sir, your acting is damned awful."

"Duly noted Sergeant," said Feliks, walking to the mercenary who immediately perked up as he approached. Taking a business approach, she held up seven fingers when he was within a few paces from her.

"Mine," said the mercenary simply.

"No."

Frowning the mercenary seemed to ponder a response for a moment before holding up five fingers.

"Yes?"

"No," said Feliks again, amused at the scowl that made its way onto her face. Ianthe held up three fingers.

"Good?"

"No, not good," said Feliks, amazed at how expressive the mercenaries face was, like a mirror to her inner thoughts which at the moment were somewhere between kicked puppy and left out in the rain.

"One?" asked the mercenary, holding up a solitary finger like a beacon of hope.

"Yes."

The mercenary held out her hand, seemingly nonplussed, waiting for her solitary silver coin, her fingerless gloves showing a pale, but calloused and tough set of fingers used to earning their keep with the hilt of a sword. Feliks filled that hand with the entire strongbox.

"Yours," said Feliks, watching the momentary confusion on the mercenaries face switch to unrestrained glee and Ianthe flashed a wide and white smile, hugging the strongbox close, before in her excitement began dancing around with it.

"Well you made her happy," said Boris.

"I did."

"Why did you give her so much?"

"Well because, we can't take the money without having a legitimate use for it unless we want to get a court martial for banditry and if I pay her well she's going to work even harder for us. Plus we won't have to worry about her running out on us or betraying us if there's a chance that she'll get another bonus like that."

"She's throwing the coins in the air like rain."

"I know," said Feliks grinning.

"Look at that you dog, buttering her up before you cozy up to inside her dragon's cave aren't you?" said Boris, elbowing Feliks in the ribs.

"What? No!" protested Feliks blushing hard.

"Kid, I swear just because you haven't used your gear doesn't mean you don't think with it. Still, she's your only shot now that Luella's off limits sir."

"Oh? How's that?"

"She may be old, but she's basically a teenager, sometimes she even acts like a little kid and there's _no_ way I'm letting some mug like you make her grow up. Sir."

"Taking a paternal interest in her sergeant?"

"Yeah, she reminds me of my second daughter when she was that age. Well, not _that_ age, but you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do," said Feliks. They stood in silence for a few moments before Boris broke it.

"So, why did you really leave the spetsnaz?"

"I don't think I know what you mean sergeant."

"Come off it sir, I've seen you in a fight a few times now. You aren't squeamish like some new recruit, hell you enjoy it. You don't miss when you shoot and you shoot to kill. You've killed people before and you don't hesitate when you have to do it again. What group were you in?"

Feliks sighed wearily.

"I'll tell you the group but that'll be the end of it until I want to talk about it again. Is that understood sergeant?"

"Yes sir."

"GRU."

"Ah. Did some nasty shit then didn't you sir?"

Feliks gave a slow nod.

"Sorry I brought it up then sir."

"Don't be, you have a right to know I suppose, just not all of it right now. "

"I'll be here when you're ready Feliks. What about all this then? Should we pack it up sir?"

"In a moment, Ianthe is amusing me right now," said Feliks grinning as he watching the mercenary laughing like a child and rolling around in a pile of silver.

Xxx

Octavian woke slowly, felling drowsy and numb. His mouth was cotton ball dry and tasted faintly of medicine. It was hard to swallow and the room was dimly lit with a candle glowing warmly on a small table in the corner of the wooden room, dispelling the dark like a pries would banish evil. The window was dark though with thousands of pinpricks of starlight visible through the panes.

"My lord, you mustn't move, your wounds haven't healed yet." It was an older voice, wizened and raspy. The air stank of sweet smelling incense and wood smoke, hanging heavy and thick in the air. Captain Octavian groaned as he tried to sit up, but finding that even the old man was capable of holding him down with ease, much to his chargin.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Three days lord. I had feared that your wounds were too great, but your spirit was strong. It was wounds unlike any I've ever seen before on you my lord."

"My men, where are they?"

"All dead lord, you are the only survivor and your life hung by no more than a spiders thread for the past three days."

"Who, who did this? To me, to my men? Did they give their name, who they belonged to? All I remember is thunder claps and terrible noises and flashes of light."

"They called themselves the Red Army my lord. They drove wagons without horses and they growled like beasts, putting out a noxious gas. Their weapons were staffs of wood and metal that shot flame and thunder. From their direction I believe that they came from Mt. Rubicon."

"Mt. Rubicon? How did they get here so fast? It should have taken them longer to recoup their forces and gather fresh supplies. The orcs at the very least should have harried their advance, they're especially thick in that area," said Octavian, half to himself.

"I can not say my lord, there was only a few of them, no more than the number of men that you had yourself. Perhaps merely a scouting party?"

"Yes, yes that must be it. Tell me though healer, why was no action taken against the agents of a foreign power that attacked the Empire's soldiers?"

"We are simple farmers and merchants my lord, not warriors. There was nothing we could do that would not result in our own deaths. I was only able to save you from the brink of death by sheer will of the gods once they had moved on. I tried with several of your men, but their wounds proved too severe and they expired. I am sorry for my inability to help them my lord."

"No, no. You did what you could and had you resisted then you would be dead and so would I right now. I must ride though, at the very least send word about this," said Octavian, trying to rise from his bed but finding that he didn't have the strength.

"My lord you must rest for now. I have sent a carrier bird with information about what has transpired already. There is nothing else that can be done until your wounds heal. Were you to leave here in this condition you would not make it more than a few leagues at best."

"I fear that you may be right, but you're certain that you sent the bird to the correct location?"

"Yes my lord. One to the legion commander's fort, one to the governor, and one to the capital. One of them is bound to make it to its destination."

"Good, that is very good. I suppose that you are correct in your assessment. Were I to leave like this, I would not make it more than a few miles. I will rest then, until I am well enough to travel. I will need a horse though."

"I have one that you use when you are able. An old nag, but reliable and strong."

"You have my thanks healer, the Empire will compensate you for the beast I assure you."

"No thanks are required lord, merely become well again will be all the thanks I need. Rest now."

"Yes, I believe I will, thank you again," said Octavian, his breathing slowing as he drifted off to sleep. The old healer studied the legionnaire as he slept.

He was a young man, fit, strong, and from the looks of him from one of the conquered regions of the empire. His hair and complexion were fair, and on his muscular arms were tattoos that wrapped around the muscles in sharp points. Tribal tattoos speaking of his lineage. A man risen from the ranks to become an officer in the Empire's armies. Yet for all his youth and strenght, the strangest of woulds had been inflicted on him. Small pieces of metal, as if thrown from a sling, but with too much accuracy and too small of a size to be from a sling. The healer picked up one of the metal pieces from a small tray and looked at it. Just what made such things like these?

AN: Just so people know I only know the anime adaptation of GATE so I'm a little lacking in terms of the knowledge from the manga, so if some of the things you guys leave in reviews go over my head that's why. AlxkendBlader, I have no idea about the goddess.


	3. Chapter 3

Colonel General Alexandrov could only marvel at the speed with which the prefabricated buildings had gone up. Camp Zhukov had gone from being a barren set of foothills with the odd scrub brush and tall grass to a first rate military encampment. Still, the rate of construction was to be expected when instead of an engineering battalion or two assigned to them, they now had a full engineering division.

Barracks, infirmaries, bunkers, and hangers had all sprung up like weeds on the mountain side in addition to miles upon miles of wire and razor wire fence. In fact, so rapid was the progress was the construction that Moscow had stepped up the timetable for colonists. He was actually on his way back from greeting around two thousand of them. All men, all miners or operators related to mining, with their families to be coming in the coming weeks. By the end of the month he was expecting to have something like twelve thousand Soviet citizens running around, mostly from the Ukraine and GDR surprisingly.

Their lodgings were already provided for, indeed there was lodging for ten times their amount immediately available with more going up with every passing day. There was a joke going around that excavators now outnumbered tanks in the Gate Army, which was actually probably pretty close to the truth. Camp Zhukov had turned into a sprawling military city, that resembled the spokes on a wheel in how it was set up. Each new section was first enclosed with fencing and wire before filled in with structures and roads. The base now extended for at least a mile in every direction from the base of Mt. Rubicon, and in some cases farther, much of it geared towards housing a civilian populaiton.

Alexandrov didn't know the specifics, but he knew one thing for sure and that was the fact that they were here to extract element R331, or mythril as some of the locals called it. He had made quiet inquiries as to why the metal was so important and had been told through official channels that it was above his pay grade, which considering his rank was saying something. Though they didn't outright say it like that to his face. Through unofficial channels, friends of his dating back to the Great Patriotic War, he had learned that R331, or mythril had the ability to defeat any and all known radar and tracking systems. A light coating of the metal, even just as a paint would render all radar and long range missile systems used against it, completely useless.

This in itself worried Alexandrov. He'd already lived through one world war, and he knew there were members in High Command and the Proletariat who would see this as an edge to be used against NATO. A trump card if you will and while it would make them unstoppable in the conventional sense, they were still just as vulnerable in the nuclear one. There were those however, some of Alexandrov's colleagues included who would see this as a means to break the stalemate induced with the advent of nuclear weapons.

If they were allowed free reign, then fifteen million Red Army soldiers stationed on the border to the West would pour across Europe in an unstoppable wave. There were others though, General Alexandrov among them who wished to avoid such a war. He wasn't a coward by any means, Alexandrov was a patriot and he loved the Motherland, would die for it if needed, but he could not condone a war that would rip open wounds not yet entirely healed from the last one.

So deep in thought was Alexandrov that he didn't notice several GAZ jeeps roaring by full of infantry until the fourth one had passed.

They were all armed with assault rifles and equipped for combat with several IFVs and light tanks rumbling by in the mix. Alexandrov waved down a jeep, and the driver seeing the commandant of the entire Gate Army waving him down slammed hard on the breaks, causing the jeep to skid to a halt.

"Where are you going in such a hurry soldier?" asked Alexandrov to the startled junior sergeant.

"T-there's a column of indigenous inhabitants approaching the southern gate sir. We've been ordered to provide reinforcement."

"Is it an assault?"

"I don't know sir, we were just told to head down immediately."

"Alright I see then, make room," said Alexandrov stepping into the jeep, the soldiers scrambling to compact themselves to give the general a place to sit.

"This is now my personal motor vehicle and you are now my security detail. We won't be stopping at any checkpoints or anyone in our way. I don't care if its your sweetheart from back home, we don't stop," said Alexandrov. "Now keep going to the southern gate."

"Uh, yes sir, right away sir," said the young soldier, quickly putting the jeep into drive and accelerating quickly past the rest of the column.

It was soon apparent why the southern gate had requested reinforcements. The few dozen men assigned to it were looking at least a thousand or more people gathered in front of it. Hull down T-55s with frag rounds loaded were aimed squarely into the center mass of the group, while machineguns poked out like metal snouts from bunkers, their operators hunched anxiously behind them, twitchy fingers on the triggers and about a dozen Soviet soldiers blocking the road with the metal gate closed and Kalashnikovs aimed threateningly. There was a constant ominous rattling from amongst the crowd of assembled people. Like when you have a handful of change that you roll about your hand. One thing was for certain however, those present were not human.

Despite that, they were no threat save for their great numbers. They were dressed in rough and cheap clothes, dirty and torn as if they had never been cleaned and been subjected to a great deal of abuse. The people wearing them didn't look much better. They looked gaunt, hungry, and depressing examples of what they had once been, but also hopeful. Iron collars and chain links dangled from them, dragging their limbs down from the weight now clinking any time that they moved.

They were odd looking creatures, some looking like animals that could merely walk upright, others appearing entirely human except for strange looking hair that looked like feathers and avian legs. They were as varied as they were numerous, with their little ragtag column stretching back at least a mile if not more. The smell was something gagging as well. Too many unwashed bodies too close together from too many species.

"Sir, I would advise you to stay back," said a captain with a Kalashnikov who appeared to be in charge of the gate. "It could get very hot here any moment."

"Somehow Captain I doubt that," said Alexandrov walking up to the gate where some of the bravest one had ventured within a dozen feet of. "You, what is your name interpreter?" called Alexandrov to the elf assigned to the gate in case of a situation like this.

"My name is Rissien, my lord," said the elf. A slender looking man with long limbs and long starlight colored hair that looked feminine both in length and style. Like all elves he had a flawless symmetry to his face and an almost too perfect complexion. With slender, almost fragile features to complete the image of some kind of doll.

"You will be my interpreter Rissien, follow me," said Alexandrov heading towards the metal gate, his half dozen accosted guards following close behind.

"Open the gate," said Alexandrov to a burly sergeant who seemed to be responsible for letting people in or out.

"Are you sure sir?" asked the sergant, eying the veritable inhuman horde on the other side.

"Very," said Alexandrov. If he wished to prevent a massacre then it was the only thing that he could do.

"Sir I must insist that you leave, it isn't safe for you here," said the Captain in charge of the gate.

"You may insist all you want Captain, but I am still going through this gate," said Alexandrov as the heavy steel gate was opened enough for someone to comfortably walk through. Having just come from a welcoming ceremony Alexandrov was dressed in his full dress uniform and his officers cap. Medals from a dozen wars gleamed on his tunic and his ceremonial saber swayed gently on his hip as he walked through, flanked by his half-dozen guards and elfin interpreter.

Alexandrov stopped a few paces short of the closest...being who seemed intimidated at seeing someone so obviously high ranking standing before him.

"Ask them who speaks for them."

Obediently the elf named Rissien translated quickly to the group in front of them. It truly was remarkable, amazing in fact the rate that the elves had learned to speak fluent Russian. It seemed in addition to their various other traits the elves were highly intelligent, learning things that would take a normal human a month of intensive study in a week.

The closest to Alexandrov, a dark furred looking dog man with a lupine snout and vaguely humanoid body looked around for a moment before a large, muscular looking man with horns on his head and scars on his body stepped forwards. He had an iron collar around his neck and manacles of a similar construction on his wrists and ankles. His voice was deep and powerful and Rissien translated what he said as he said it.

"He says that his name is Talfagoron and he led these people in an uprising from a mine at least fifteen leagues from here. They were slaves, but when they heard of the defeat of the Imperial army at Mt. Rubicon and rumors that the mottled men did not practice or condone slavery, they broke free and headed here. He says that they lack food and water, and most have no education, but they have strong backs and would be willing to work hard for the Lord of the Mountain in exchange for protection from the Empire."

"Tell him that I am Colonel General Alexandrov, commander of the First Gate Army and that everything here and everyone on this mountain is under my command and as such I have indisputable authority here. Tell him that he has trespassed on territory belonging to the Soviet Union and the only reason that he was not fired upon was that he is not a threat to us in any way. Does he understand?"

"He does General. He says that he is very sorry for coming onto your lands without permission and asks in humility that you accept them. He says that they have nowhere else to go."

"Ask him why he thought that I would take him and his people in. I have more than enough workers and more than enough mouths to feed without a few thousand more refugees with children and the lame to take care of," said Alexandrov seeing a grotesque leg injury on one of the nonhumans present.

Rissien relayed the question and Alexandrov could almost see the hope drain from the large man's eyes. Even though he was at least head and shoulders above Alexandrov he seemed pitifully small now, unable to meet the General's gaze. As if a great weight he had been holding up had finally proven to be too much and was now crushing him down into the ground.

"He says that he understands that you have no reason to take in worthless slaves, but asks that you at least take in the women and children. He says that the slave masters from the mines have sent out bounty hunters and cavalry after them and have been attacking the back of their column. He says they came here in hope that you would accept them, but asks you now out of pity that you take in the young and show mercy so the masters will not punish them when they are recaptured," said Rissien, stopping as the large being stooped to his knees prostrating himself before Alexandrov, his stone like face cracking as the large man began to weep, his voice a pitiful wail.

"He begs you General," said Rissien as the large man clutched at Alexandrov's pant leg causing his guards to level their Kalashnikov's at the being, safeties clicking off. Then pointed them away at a gesture from their general.

Alexandrov knelt down and grabbed the mans shoulders, raising him back to his feet. His skin was like leather, tough and rough, woven through with long healed scars from a lifetime of abuse and muscles made through strenuous backbreaking work.

Alexandrov had been but a boy when the revolution had swept through the Russian Empire to turn it into the Soviet Union, yet he still remembered that time vividly. He remembered the lack of food, the indifference of the nobles to the lives of the people under their control, the bleak outlook of the Russian worker forever at the mercy of the factory owners and landlords. Little better than slaves, sent to fight and die or starve at the whims of their 'noble' lords without thought or care. They had feasted while a famine had swept through Russia as they had fought a pointless war created by nobles against Germany in which millions of young Russian men had perished. Alexandrov was still a revolutionary at heart and it struck a deep cord within him to see such an obviously proud man refer to himself and his people as worthless slaves. To grovel at the feet of merely a new lord in his eyes. He did not know if Moscow would approve, but he would not turn his back on the starving masses literally at his door.

"Rissien, translate everything that I say exactly as I say it."

"Yes General."

"Talfagoron. I admire the courage and resolve that your people have displayed in making this journey and at terrible risk to yourselves. In respect of your courage and as an act of simple humanity, your people will be taken in, every single one of them. You will be provided with food, water, shelter, medical treatment and accommodations. You will not be mistreated or abused while you are under the protection of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics Red Army. Your rights will be respected and your dignity will be preserved. However, there are rules that will be followed without complaint or question. Failure to do so will result in the expulsion from Mt. Rubicon and Camp Zhukov. I retain the right to do so at any time should my conditions of your acceptance be breached, and I _will_ make you leave in such an event."

It was as if the crushing weight upon the mans back was lifted off in an instant and in a fit of glee Talfagoron wrapped his arms the size of stove pipes around the general in a great hug, Alexandrov having to make frantic gestures so that his men did not think it some kind of attack and open fire. The giant of a man, or whatever he was, was weeping openly.

"Talfagoron says that they will honor you for this and pray to the gods every night for your health and well being," said Rissien.

"Tell him it isn't necessary," said Alexandrov.

"But it is General."

"Why?"

"Well because General, no one has ever done anything like this. Nothing even close to this scale even. Especially not a human for people who aren't human," said Rissien.

"Well I intend to change that," said Alexandrov.

With that and the indisputable authority of the Colonel General, the great metal gates were opened and the freed slaves from a dozen different species came through. The final count would be 3 428 slaves accepted that day. There was more than enough space for them, with the engineers erecting dozens of new barracks and houses a day complete with showers and the compartmental nature of which the camp had been designed allowed them to be put into one section entirely. They were put under heavy guard obviously, but were provided with all necessities of life.

Surplus uniforms were handed out to replace clothes that could no longer be called such and a veritable army of doctors and nurses were unleashed to help process those present, including some mechanics and engineers to remove the iron manacles and collars still handing heavily from the escaped slaves.

Alexandrov's act of mercy would soon be turned into a propaganda victory back in the Soviet Union when the first reels of footage were released to the public to show them what was being done with so many resources and so much money that was being funneled into the Gate. Not all of those in Moscow were pleased by his act however. Many powerful men looked unfavorably upon it.

xxx

It had been at least a week since they had hit the Imperial tax collector and Ianthe found herself experiencing what some of the other mercenaries had called, 'silver fever.'

It wasn't a sickness in the traditional sense of the word, more like a warm fuzzy feeling of not worrying about money for the first time. She had been concerned at first accepting the contract with the Red Army, but in reality all it entailed was her flying around every so often and letting them know what she saw ahead of them. That was it, no fighting, no duties, and food for her and time to hunt for Maximus. When she finished with this job she would have to pay out her debt to the Skyraiders obviously to go back to the Messalon cities. Maybe tell some of her peers about the opportunities and wealth that could be gained from working for the Red Army. Right now though, she was more concerned about napping.

She was sitting on Maximus, lounging actually, who was in turn sitting on the armored wagon called a PT 76 light tank. It moved astonishingly fast, even carrying something as heavy as Maximus with nothing visibly pulling it, which had made Ianthe suspect magic, but the elf had said it wasn't the case. The elf had said that it was a machine that moved itself, but that sounded like hogwash to Ianthe. More than likely it was some kind of magic and they had just lied to the elf about how it worked. The little elf seemed like a good sort, the kind of village girl preachers daughter that lived down the lane who would volunteer to carry things for the elderly. While hardly knowing what her lady parts were supposed to be used for.

The elf was nice, if a bit meek, but that didn't seem to be much of a problem the way the that the older soldier with the steel teeth looked after her. Ianthe wondered if perhaps the soldier wanted to, or was laying with the elf. It seemed unlikely though, he didn't look at her with hungry eyes, more of a protective and fatherly look. Wherever these guys were from though, they were absolute prudes.

Whenever they had to bathe, or else clean themselves they would all make a concerted effort to not even _glance_ in her direction. Which was all fine and dandy by Ianthe's point of view, but she was from Messalon. It was called the _free_ cities for a reason and independence was not the main cause of the name. Hell, clothes were more of a fashion statement than actual necessity there for both men and women. Doing mercenary work though had taught her that if she didn't want to get stared at like a piece of meat all the time, cover up. Helped too since many of the places Messalonian mercenaries went considered women inferior soldiers.

What she was looking forward to, was a chance to get drunk on what the Soviets called Vodka. She didn't mind the taste, though it was much more potent than what she was used to. The lieutenant was very strict though, no liquor on duty, no fires at night, and nobody left the group or went anywhere alone. Smart man so far as she was concerned and he seemed like a competent officer. Literate, knew his numbers, and he listened to his sergeant which was a huge improvement over many of the petty nobles Ianthe had worked for before. He might actually end up not getting them all killed if he kept it up.

Maximus however, was not taking to the lack of violence quite well and as a result was getting fat, complacent, and stubborn. All three things that Ianthe couldn't allow him to become. Dealing with dragons was a bit of an art. If you acted like food around them, you became food. If you acted like an alpha, you always had to be the alpha, which was essential and harder than it sounded when dealing with thousands of pounds of raw, scaled killing fury that could snap a horse in half with its jaws. That being said, you had to read the dragon's mood. If you just tried to abuse it to get it to do what you wanted, you were a fool who would soon be dead. You had to get them when they were just a hatchling, get them used to people and believing that you were stronger than them and you could _never_ back down when they challenged you as they were growing older. If you did and they found out that they were indeed stronger than you, that dragon would never respect you or listen to you.

They were hard to train, stubborn, tempermental, dangerous, and worth every ounce of hardship and patience. One dragon rider was better than a full platoon of calvalry. Most of the time it was the dragon that did the fighting. You could fight with a special lance or a bow from a dragon, but it was better to just let the dragon do its thing. Unless two dragon riders were fighting, in which case when the dragons locked together in a battle spiral, you did every dirty trick you could to make the other dragon lose. Try to lance it in the eye, stab its wing, kill its rider, and all sorts of other nasty tricks of the trade. If you were particularly lucky and skillful you could lance it under its armpit and maybe hit the heart. Even if you didn't though, it was a very tender spot on the dragon. Good distraction point.

Ianthe watched the trees go by without any real interest. She had just gotten back from a reconnaissance flight and the Lieutenant would let her know when he wanted another one done. Some sort of magic device that transmitted voices would let the crew of the PT carriage she was on now know, whom in turn would let her know.

Switching her gaze, Ianthe stared at the Lieutenant riding on top of the BTR carriage behind her own. He was always looking over his map and making little notes, his Kalashnikov as she now knew the staffs they carried to be called, was never far out of reach for him. He seemed different than his men. While he wasn't much older than Ianthe, if any older, he seemed to have an air of experience about him that his men lacked, save for the big man named Boris.

He was different in another way too though. Ianthe had seen all manner of warriors from peasant levies to knights who had literally dedicated their lives to war. The lieutenant Feliks had something inbetween the two. He took his duty seriously, but didn't let the idea of personal glory and combat cloud his judgment or interfere with his decisions. However, he seemed to enjoy combat to a degree that no conscripted farmer could ever hope to achieve. There was something else about his though, something that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

The man had been involved in something more than common soldiering sometime in his past. As to what he had done Ianthe wasn't sure, but despite the somewhat easygoing air that he would sometimes give off, he seemed like he could be a dangerous man if he wanted to.

Whatever it was though, it wasn't any of Ianthe's business and so long as he kept paying her then she could care less what he had done. There was a saying among the mercenaries of Massalon. You're paid from the shoulders down. The lords don't want you to think, they just want you to carry out whatever it is that they want done and how they want it done. And so long as she continued to have a contract, a quite lavish contract at that, she was content to do just that. Finally getting comfy in her saddle, Ianthe went about the business of getting some sleep.

Xxx

Feliks liked to think of himself as a good leader and a good tactician, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his guard up on this patrol. Whenever they ran into any legionnaires, which was few and far between, it wasn't so much a fight as target practice. He didn't want to discount them as a threat, but when you had killed a hundred of them without a single loss of your own it was a little hard not to.

They'd been resupplied already with fresh fuel, food, and munitions, not that they'd really needed any more. They'd taken it though and stuffed as much as they could into the back of the jeeps since there was only ever usually one person driving them. Feliks pitied the poor bastards who were unlucky enough to have to drive those things day in and day out.

For the most part though things were going exceedingly well. They'd even developed a little routine. They'd go into a village, give the chief his gift, introduce themselves, and then pretty much put on a show of handing out little trinkets, giving some minor medical treatment, and generally making the Red Army look good.

They were about a hundred and twenty nautical miles from Alnus kill so starting tomorrow they'd be cutting cross country and staying in forrested areas as much as possible to hide them from aerial reconnaissance.

If what he had heard was true and all the villagers said that it was, there had been several large armies that had converged on Alnus Hill. Now Feliks was reasonably sure that their convoy could fight their way clear of even a legion of infantry and cavalry. What he was concerned about was the Dragon riders. They simply didn't have enough ammo to keep them away, or kill them all. Not assuming that they didn't try to simply ram or tip over the armored carriers with their dragon mounts. Or wyverns as some of the species were called. Not to mention that the BTRs weren't specialized for anti air work.

Because of such, if when he sent up Ianthe and she returned telling him that a huge amount of dragon riders or an entire legion were up ahead they would do a quick about face and head directly back to camp Zhukov. Their job was reconnaissance, not a combat patrol so Feliks was more doing his best to avoid any bandits or other encounters, which had been increasing in frequency the close they got to Alnus hill.

What could be more beneficial too though, would be traveling at night instead of during the day. They had night vision capabilities and from what he'd heard from Ianthe and some villagers they'd encountered, people generally didn't fight during the night in this world because of the confusion it caused and the difficulty of keeping everyone coordinated and together.

They'd also be noticed far less than they were now and be less likely to run into bandits than they were now, though honestly the few bandits they'd seen, if they had been which seemed entirely likely had been terrified of them. A tank with a dragon riding on top will have that effect on people it seemed. Speaking of which.

"Sergeant!" Yelled Feliks authoritatively into the open hatch of the BTR.

"Yes sir?"

"Our resident mercenary is getting too comfortable ahead, put her to work would you?"

"Yes sir, like to see her sweat do you sir?" asked the big man with a grin, sticking his head out of the hatch.

"Every second of every day if I could Sergeant."

"Right. Same deal as usual, fly some circles around us?"

"Yes, but see that she goes a bit further ahead to scout out the terrain. Tell her to go out for a few hours, but be sure to be back before nightfall."

"Making her work extra hard sir? If I may ask though sir, wouldn't it be quicker to just tell Dima and his boys yourself instead of getting your overworked sergeant to do it?"

"Boris you're teaching Luella how to play poker. Plus it's delegation, the art of leadership. I tell you to do it, you tell Vitsin to do it, Vitsin asks the driver who outranks him who obliges to do it, and then Dima tells Ianthe. It's a very complex command structure that you simply can't circumnavigate."

"I agree on all accounts except one sir, I'm not teaching Luella how to play poker. It's purely cultural exchange."

"Boris, you have three kings, does that beat what I have?" came the voice of their resident cheerful elf from within the confines of the BTR.

"Darling you can't look at my cards, we're playing against each other."

"Oh. Sorry," came the sheepish reply. Boris flashed a steely grin to Feliks before he ducked back down inside the BTR.

Feliks grinned when he was sure that Boris couldn't see. He and Boris had had a love hate relationship back when they'd been more comparable in rank. By love hate, they had loved to hate each other, all in good fun of course and a day didn't go by that they didn't insult one another to some degree. They were both professional enough now that since their relationship had changed with Feliks becoming an officer and Boris a senior sergeant, but they were still friendly with each other. Just couldn't rib each other like they used to. There was an unbreakable hierarchy in the military and you did not insult your officers or have your officers and senior NCOs argue or insult each other in front of the men. To do that screamed of being unprofessional and no longer soldiers, but civilians toting guns.

Feliks couldn't help but grin again when he saw the hatch of the PT 76 pop open ahead and Dima stick his head out and tell the mercenary that she needed to do another flight. The girl Ianthe wore everything on her sleeve as the expression went, and Feliks never had to guess what she was thinking because of it. He liked that about her, she was blunt, transparent, and crushingly honest. Right now, her expression told plainly that she would rather be napping. Nevertheless she was soon suited up and strapped to Maximus.

It was always a sight seeing the dragon tight flight. It would raise itself up on its haunches, like a cat about to pounce, then in one dramatic and explosive movement it would unfurl its wings and throw itself into the air. Its wings extending like a blue sail to either side of the road before snapping like dull thunder, the creature soon no more than a speck high above their heads. So it was more than a little surprise when she returned not a half hour later, landing heavily on the road ahead of them and leaping off of her mount.

"Column, halt," said Feliks into the Radio as they drew closer to the mercenary running up to the BTR.

The column ground to a halt, with the turrets of every vehicle swivelling to cover all avenues of approach.

Feliks watched the mercenary running up quickly to him and called for Luella to come out and act as an interpreter so they could more easily understand each other.

Ianthe made it to him, breathing heavily, but seemingly more from excitement than actual physical exertion despite the fact that she was fully armored for battle.

"BTR! BTR ahead!" said the mercenary excitedly.

"What?" asked Feliks perplexed. They were the only Soviet force out in this direction. There was no way that there was anyone with vehicles besides them out here. What followed was a rapid exchange between Luella and Ianthe, before the elf turned to Feliks to relay what had been said.

"Ianthe says that she saw vehicles like yours, but different ahead. Three of them, with one having a gun like that on top," said Luella, pointing to the turret of the BTR and the KPVT housed within. "She also says that they'll be here within maybe twenty minutes at their current speed."

"She's sure that she saw trucks? Not carriages or something else?"

Luella relayed the question to Ianthe who responded rather hotly to the little elf, while glaring at Feliks.

"Um she says, and sorry for the language, but she says that she knows what a fucking horseless carriage looks like and she wouldn't mistake a real one for something like you have," said Luella. Stumbling over the expletive like a child knowing it was saying a bad word.

A small part of Feliks wanted to reprimand the mercenary for swearing at a superior officer, but he had more pressing concerns to deal with than the mercenary's lack of etiquette.

"Alright then," said Feliks half to himself. This was unexpected and more than likely the reason that they had been sent this way. No way these vehicles were indigenous, one culture could not be that much more advanced than another and allow the other to maintain an empire. Nor could the disparity in technology be possible, which led to one very uncomfortable conclusion. There was another gate. One which another nation, possibly the same or more advanced than theirs had come through.

"Sergeant!" barked Feliks.

"Yes sir?" answered Boris, noting the urgency in the officers voice.

"Get that long range radio receiver sending. Tell Zhukov that we've got automobiles of a military nature approaching us and what they want us to do about it."

"Yes sir," said Boris disappearing within the BTR.

"Luella, tell Ianthe that she is take her mount and stay out of sight."

"O-okay," answered the elf, realizing that they may be getting into a fight in a short amount of time. As soon as the message was relayed, the silver haired mercenary was sprinting back towards her dragon and was soon airborne, by which time Feliks had already grabbed a radio and was giving orders into it.

"Grekov, Belikov, Zonov, Averin, break out the RPGs and get a good line of sight on the roadway from the treeline on either side. Dima, I want HE loaded and ready to go," rattled off Feliks and quickly got a series of yes sirs by way of reply.

"Lieutenant, I got through to Zhukov," said Boris hopping out of the BTR."

"Really?" asked Feliks, surprised at the speed with which they had gotten their reply, which only furthered his suspicions that they had already known of either this, or something like this beforehand.

"Yes sir. They say that they want us to make contact, but no violent confrontation."

"Did they say how they wanted us to greet them or what to say?" asked Feliks.

"No sir, they left that up to your discretion."

"Well great," muttered Feliks.

Xxx

"I'm telling you Itami, Wing was the Best of the Gundam series. After that it was all girls in short skirts and pilots who got really whiny," said Kurato, the young otaku with a catgirl fetish talking about something other than that for once and actually serious for once.

"I don't know about that. I mean I enjoyed a lot of the different reboots and I don't think Wing was the be all end all of Gundam. I mean it only touched on some of the cooler technology that the ones after it did."

"Yeah, but that's just technology. That's not actual good story and dialogue," countered Kurato.

"Hey, let's not start slinging mud. Gundam series other than wing had good dialogue."

"That's true to an extent, but they never got as good as Wing did in story. I like the new anime, but in this case the classic stands tall."

"Or you two could stop talking about TV shows meant for kids on an open frequency like they're actual literature. Baka's," came the disdainful reply from Shino over the radio.

"I really gotta quit doing that," said Kurato with a nervous laugh.

"Wouldn't matter if you did, Shino would still be grumpy," said Itami.

"The mike is still keyed baka!" came the sharp retort, causing both men to jump and quickly make the mike stop transmitting.

They were part of the 3rd recon unit and ironically enough had three vehicles to their patrol group. Or more accurately saying, they were the third recon unit out of twelve such units, but they seemed to have a lot more fun than the other units. If you could count fighting dragons, being accosted by a demi goddess, and having to deal with many strange and utterly bizarre situations. One of the situations that they had not been expecting, despite all of the magic, elves, demi gods, and dragons that they had been exposed to, was this.

The third recon unit came to a halt after taking a particularly sharp turn in the road, hemmed in on either side by trees, because the road was blocked. By two Soviet era jeeps, four Soviet looking soldiers and a Soviet flag stuck into the ground by the jeeps. A man stood between the two jeeps, looking almost like he had been waiting for them. He gave a friendly wave.

"Um, sir. Did we take a wrong turn somewhere?" asked Kurato.

"No, we're exploring. Can't take a wrong turn when you're exploring," responded Itami glibly.

"What should we do?"

"Say hello I guess," said Itami getting out of the Toyota high mobility vehicle.

"What are you doing Itami?" sputtered Kurato.

"Talking. If they kill me make sure to avenge me," said Itami with an apathetic wave of his hand.

The man facing him was dressed in outdated Soviet military fatigues and armed with a Kalashnikov rifle currently slung over his shoulder, much the way that Itami had his Type 64 slung over his.

"Hi, how are you?" asked Itami, not really expecting much of an answer.

"I am well, thank you for asking."

Itami's jaw nearly hit the floor. The young officer in front of him had just answered him in fluent Japanese, though very proper Japanese. If things could get any weirder it would be hard to imagine it.

"So, uh, what are you guys doing out here?" asked Itami rather lamely.

"Same as you I assume. Acting as a reconnaissance force for our respective military's. You are of the Japan Ground Self Defense Forces are you not?"

"Yeah, I'm Lieutenant First Class Itami Youji with the JGSDF, fifth Division. Who are you?"

"I am Senior Lieutenant Feliks Volkin, 33rd Motor Rifle Division, First Gate Army, Second Shock Army Group of the Red Army, Soviet Union."

"Soviet Union? Didn't you guys break up?" asked Itami perplexed that not only were there more people here, but soldiers from a communist regime that had broken up more than thirty years ago.

"Not to the best of my knowledge we haven't. I must admit that it is a rather large surprise for us to meet you here. We had assumed that we were the only ones with access to this region."

"Same here. So uh, this is going to sound really odd but what year is it where you guys come from?"

"1967 AD, yourself?"

"2024 CE. Basically the same as AD, just changed the labeling system to be politically correct."

"I see. I will be honest with you Lieutenant I am unsure of how to proceed. I was ordered to make contact, but beyond that I have not received any other orders."

"Same here. Kinda weird huh? So are we from different time lines or are we from the past and future?"

"I do not know. Did Turkey ever secede from the Soviet Union?"

"Turkey wasn't ever part of the Soviet Union."

"Different time lines then I presume. Am I to assume that you wish to pass down this road?"

It seemed odd the ease in which Itami could converse with the Soviet officer in things that would have boggled the mind only a month ago. But now with everything that had been going from dragons to magic and physics defying gates, this seemed par for the course. It did make him wonder though if there were other gates besides the ones that they had found and used, if there were things that would push the JGSDF aside as easily as they had pushed the Empire aside. It was a sobering thought, but one for a different time.

"Yes, but will I run into any other Soviet's going this way?"

"Not unless you travel for several hundred nautical miles. will I run into any other Japanese units heading down the way you came?"

"Only if you go about another two hundred or so kilometers down the road. It'll be a big hill, lots of soldiers, can't miss it."

"I see. Would it happen to be at a place called Alnus hill?"

"It would be, yeah."

"Then may I request for me and my men to follow you back and...greet your commanders. Is that the proper word? Greet?"

"Yeah it works, saying hi, introducing yourself, surrender and accept communism or be destroyed all work well," said Itami.

"That is a joke, correct? I have not spoken Japanese in a long time and I am concerned that I may have misheard you."

"Yeah, it was joke sorry. Making first contact between people was never my strong suit."

"Neither was it mine, however, our current orders have made it a necessity to become quite adept in that regard."

"It has. I suppose that you could, obviously you wouldn't be able to bring your weapons in with you and we'd have to document you and all that bureaucratic nonsense."

"I see. That would not be an issue. I thank you for your...cooperation? Compliance?"

"More just being polite," said Itami to the young Soviet officer. The man was about as tall as Itami was, but he looked more fit and his dark red hair was trimmed neatly to standard, while Itami's was a bit more unruly under his helmet. "Is this all of your men?" asked Itami, looking at the two jeeps loaded with gear.

"All of my men are present, yes."

"With Respect Lieutenant Volkin, you really didn't answer my question." Itami didn't like the way that the Soviet smiled. He looked off to the sides of the road and gave a few quick commands in Russian.

In total, four RPG teams came out of concealment, their faces painted and pieces of foliage stuck to them. There was some alarm amongst the rest of the third recon unit and the .50 atop the LAV turned towards a pair of the teams, which in turn led to all of the RPG teams to aim their rockets at the LAV, until a command from Itami made the gunner relax, and a command from Volkin for the RPG teams to do the same.

"A precaution I assure you, in case that you had been less than friendly," assued Volkin.

"The blast from those RPGs would have killed you too you know."

"Most likely, I had not expected you to drive up so close to us."

"Didn't really plan on it, mostly just worked out in my favor," answered Itami truthfully. "So how wou-"

"Itami, what the hell is going on!" came an angry voice as a short statured woman came marching up to where the two officers were talking. "You just get out of your vehicle and start doing whatever you damn well please don't you? And who is this?" demanded Shino, looking at the Soviet officer suspiciously.

"Well Shino, this is First Lieutenant Volkin of the Soviet Red Army, and these are his men," said Itami, trying to defuse the bomb known as Sergeant First Class Shino Kuribayashi.

"And you went to talk to him without having someone report back to Alnus or letting us know what you were doing right? Baka," said Shino Derisively.

"Forgive my ignorance of Japanese military ranks, but you are a sergeant correct?" asked the Soviet Lieutenant.

"Yeah, I am," said Shino surprised that the man could speak Japanese.

"Then is it common in the Japanese military for an NCO to act without orders, call their officer by name, disrespect, belittle, and deride their officer in front of another officer whom you know nothing of and little about, or is it just you that does it?" asked Volkin, obviously irritated, if not downright furious at the Sergeant First Class.

"Yeah, well, who the hell are you?" demanded Shino, unable to come up with a better retort at the moment.

"I am an officer, having a discussion with another officer of a different country and military for the first time, which also makes me an ambassador for the moment. One in which, you have just offended with your impertinent attitude and poor military discipline, possibly jeopardizing relations. You deride your officer for going in without a plan, yet he approached alone and in a calm and neutral fashion with his weapon out of reach. You on the other hand approached with your rifle in hand, obviously angry, and with even less thought than you accuse your superior of. What if I had taken your coming up here as an aggressive act and it led to bloodshed? Would your officer still be the idiot, or would it now be you? Sergeant? Now, I do believe you owe your officer an apology for your outburst? Or is this simply how it is done in the Japanese Self Defense Forces?"

Shino's teeth were grinding against each other in her anger, but it was Itami who ended up saving face for the First Sergeant.

"Kuribayashi, get on the radio and let Alnus know that we're coming with some unexpected guests."

"Yes sir," said Shino stiffly, coming to attention, saluting, and then practically marching back to her vehicle.

"I do apologize for disciplining your me-soldiers, but in the Soviet military we do not tolerate such things in the slightest. I apologize if I have overstepped," said Volkin.

"It's alright, she just doesn't like me because I'm an otaku," said Itami dismissively.

"I'm sorry? An otaku? I am not familiar with the term."

"Oh well," said Itami going into a long explanation of what an Otaku was, what anime was, doujin, manga, yandere, yuri, loli, gundams, and nearly every other subject for which he was known for having a passion for, at the end of which he realized that the Soviet Lieutenant did not share his enthusiasm for it.

"I...see," was all Volkin said. In his own private thoughts though, he no longer condemned America for dropping nuclear weapons upon Japan, now wishing they had finished to job to prevent what had just been described to him from ever existing.

Xxx

Feliks had elected to ride in the same vehicle as the Lieutenant, with the three UAZ jeeps to follow closely behind. They contained all of his old section and two other drivers assigned to him, save for Boris. Boris was now in Command of the heavier vehicles of the patrol group, as well as Luella and Ianthe. They were to follow at a discreet distance, following once it was dark so that the Japanese would have less chance of noticing them. They would keep Camp Zhukov appraised of everything that was going on as it happened. Boris had been disagreeable about not going along, but more than relieved that Luella wouldn't be part of the group the group with Feliks.

Feliks had taken a gamble that the trucks had not been of this world, making Luella's skills as an interpreter rather moot and Feliks given a windfall that they had run into the Japanese. It had been one of the languages he had been forced to learn as part of his training to be a GRU spetsnaz. He had been taught to innovate, adapt, and overcome in his training and he felt that he was doing remarkably well in that regard, however, there was one thing he couldn't quite comprehend. The trio of girls in the larger truck, one of which had blue hair, another was an elf in blue jeans, and the third was something that Feliks had no fucking clue what she was other than some kind of freak. Said freak also kept staring at him and she was _squirming with pleasure._ The way that she was looking at him was also rather unsettling since she looked like a teenager.

"May I ask why you are doing...that?" asked Feliks, no longer able to keep silent on the matter. Instead of answering right away, the girl smiled and Feliks had to blink as he thought he saw her lipstick change from red to a dark purple. A trick of the light perhaps? She leaned in close to him, uncomfortably so, before she spoke.

"You _reek_ of death, and it's wonderful."

There were few words that could have disturbed Feliks quite so much as he was now, and those ones coming from the girl dressed in some odd maids outfit had done the trick.

"I...see. I am glad that you are pleased by that fact," said Feliks, then feeling revulsion as the girl put a hand on his leg which he forcefully removed. "But I must ask that you not touch me," added Feliks, a touch of anger in his voice, an old persona he's long thought buried rising up to the fore.

"And if I don't?" asked the girl, a smile on her face, but one that was not good natured in the slightest.

Xxx

"Ianthe, why are you pacing?" asked Luella.

"Mad," was all the mercenary said.

"Why are you mad?"

"Because the lord, lieutenant, whatever you want to call the guy, my employer went off without me. He hired me personally, that means that I'm his sword and shield. It is my duty to defend him with my life and I can't do that when I'm not by his side. My protection ends after the end of my sword," emphasized the mercenary by drawing her mythril sword and holding it away from her body.

"But you weren't hired for that, how can you be his bodyguard?"

"It doesn't matter if he asked for it, Messalonian honor is at stake. Everyone knows that if you personally hire a Messalonian mercenary, no matter their rank, they become your lifeward. I should be as his shadow, only ever a pace behind, never obstructing but always protecting. I should be his shield at his side, the one that takes the blow for him, the one that substitutes my life for his own. I never worried being away from him before because he was always surrounded by his men, protected, but now he had to be so damned _STUPID!_ " vented the mercenary, running her hands roughly through her silver hair, revealing slightly pointed ears.

"Are you half elvish?" asked Luella, half in surprise, half in glee.

"Yeah, my dad plowed an elf and she gave me to him to raise otherwise she'd get kicked out of her damn little treehouse and she couldn't have that. This whole thing, just, argh, GODS FUCK IT!" cursed Ianthe kicking a fallen tree. They had drawn the vehicles into a rough circle to defend against attack for the night and would continue on in the morning.

"I have no honor left, none! I ran from battle, ran for my fucking life because I was scared. Now, the one guy who gave me a chance to regain my honor, so I can look men in the eye with pride went and did like men seem to like to do, and acted so fucking dumb!" Ianthe punctuated her sentence by kicking the fallen tree again. "I should be with him at all times. After this he's not going to be able to take a shit without me being able to tell what he ate for breakfast."

"I'm sure that he'll be fine," said Luella trying to calm the mercenary. "He's still got a lot of his men with him."

"I don't care for 'oh, I'm sure that he'll be fine' or any of that shit. You don't understand Luella. When I ran from battle I was marked. No one from Messalon looks at a deserter, no one acknowledges them. Do you know what they call you when you run from battle in Massalon and break contract? Kenos. It literally means void, as in you are nothing, where you are and what you are is a blank space not worthy of even fucking acknowledgment. I don't _exist_ in Messalon right now and if any other mercenaries from Messalon see me, they'll be obliged to kill me. That was what my fate was when I was trying to drink myself to death in Blenheim, and this guy, an officer, a commander of men offers me a contract. He offered a _kenos_ a contract at three times the gods damned rate a regular free lance goes for. Volkin gave me a way to get my life back. I am the only mercenary working for the Red Army, the only one. If I can make inroads, hell, even a good impression that leads to others getting contracts then it'll be like I never ran and if I can bring glory, or at least keep my employer alive, I get my life back. I get to _exist_ again. My life is tied to his like this," said Ianthe linking the fingers of her hands together. "If he dies I have to die first, I have to otherwise I am _worse_ that a kenos. Heh, can you imagine that? Worse than a Kenos," Ianthe chuckled at that before firing her steel shod foot back into the trunk of the tree again causing splinters to break off.

"I am his fucking sword and shield!" raged the silver haired mercenary again. Luella let the mercenary work out her frustrations before she tried to talk to her again, by which point the mercenary was breathing hard and covered in sweat, the tree thoroughly brutalized.

"The soldiers that Volkin went with looked kinda like his own, but different, like they were from a different land."

"Oh yeah?" answered Ianthe, pacing like a caged beast, still breathing heavy.

"Yes, but there was one oddly dressed girl with a large weapon, like a scythe, or halberd or axe. It was taller than she was whatever it was. The silver haired mercenary stopped midstride as if she had suddenly frozen in place.

"What?" asked Ianthe, not turning her head and sounding as if all emotion had been drained from her.

"There was an oddly dressed girl, kind of like a maid, but with a giant weapon and she looked young," said Luella, timidly, sensing the change in Ianthe's demeanor.

"Was the dress black and red?"

"Um...yes."

"A fucking apostle of Emroy. The god of war, violence, and death. The drinker of blood, the devourer or mens souls, the fucking bringer of woe and destruction and you let Volkin GET INTO A FUCKING CARRIAGE WITH HER!?" Shrieked Ianthe, lifting Luella off the ground by her collar.

"I-I didn't know! I didn't know! Please, you're scaring me."

"I'll do more than scare you, you silly little bitch! Do you know what you've done?! You've fucking killed him! The apostles like finding strong warriors so they can either fuck them, or fucking kill them!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" pleaded Luella weeping openly, extremely afraid of the mercenary. Fire was blazing behind her blue eyes, but after a moment it cooled and she let Luella down.

"I'm sorry Luella, I shouldn't have grabbed you like that. You've never done me harm or been anything other than kind. I can not blame you for ignorance and I forgive you and ask that you do the same for me. Even if your forgiveness finds me in the next life, take care little elf," said Ianthe turning and heading for her dragon, but finding her way blocked by the large man Boris. She attempted to go around him, but he moved to block her again.

"Stand aside, I have no quarrel with you," said Ianthe. When she attempted to move around him again though, he grabbed at her to restrain her. Had she been a gentler woman Ianthe would have been powerless to stop the large man, most likely been thrown over his shoulder and beat her fists futilely against his back in some impotent gesture of defiance. However, Ianthe was not a gentle woman. She had been trained since she could walk how to be a draconian knight and spent countless hours mastering the lance, the sword, the bow, and her own two hands. So when the man tried to grab her, she grabbed him by both shoulders and throwing her hip into it, drove a metal armored knee into his groin, causing the big man to sink down with a gasp before her fist connected to his jaw and laid him flat out on the ground.

With a snap of wings Ianthe was airborne in the night sky, armed and armored in mythril and steel. Prepared to fight an Apostle of Emroy, and likely die.

 **AN** : Hi there, a few things I'd like to explain in my writing. First of all with the Soviet Soldiers, since they're from a more conservative time period you're going to see them acting in a more gentlemanly manner towards women, and be a bit more proper when dealing with other people than People from say Itami's generation. As for the bit with Shino, I'm soon to be a member of the Canadian Army Reserve and what I can say is that the kind of stuff she does in the anime is a big no no in military terms. Running off on your own to engage in close combat, disrespecting and harassing your officers, and several of the other things she did had me half expecting to see her doing extra duties for the rest of the show. Not only did that not happen, it's not brought up, ever. And as a guy who likes to abide by military discipline, that irked me just a little bit.

In response to an earlier review question By Italia I hadn't really considered having a joint American-Japanese Force, but I would be open to the suggestion, since the reasons that the Americans didn't get involved seemed rather shallow in the anime. I would have rather thought that America would have been exerting all the pressure they could to get at least scientists or something into the special region. No way Japan would try to distance themselves from America that hard when they're getting into border spats with the Chinese over islands and China trying to bully its neighbors into ceding more ocean territory.

I also find that I really enjoy writing Ianthe. She expresses whatever she's feeling completely whether if she's happy or mad and is an open book. I also find it fun to write her because she's full of vitality and there's no half measures for her.

On an unrelated note, I always find it rather funny in an ironic way when I write war fiction being Canadian since that we have a well trained, but small military without a lot of funding and a mentality in government that doesn't seem to want to see things through to the end. Case in point arguing over having six CF 18s bombing ISIS because of the costs and arguments over our role, or the some 2500 forces we had in Afghanistan at any one time and the debate of the cost coming up multiple times in parliament. Because of things like that I could never see something where Canada would be serious in doing anything in a military venture like this. On the upside I love Russian/Soviet hardware and military stuff which was great because the Soviet Union had the will, money, and resources to see things like this through to the end. Also I swear to god that my document writer program edits my words after I save the document, because I'll open it again later, or reread it once I post a chapter and I'm always like, "that mistake wasn't there before."


	4. Chapter 4

"It's good to see you Field Marshall, but you're a few days early. If I had known you would be here I would have come to greet you personally at the Gate," said Colonel General Alexadrov, saluting and then shaking Konev's hand.

"Yes, I had originally not planned on coming until Friday, but I have recently heard some interesting news about the Gate and decided that it required my immediate attention. Shall we go for a walk?"

"Yes, that wouldn't be a problem sir."

Konev didn't say anything for a while as they walked past rows of barrack blocks, with their entourage of guards, aides, and reporters that numbered as a small army keeping a respectful distance back from them.

The street was wide enough for two tanks to pass each other easily and the barracks were like those that one would find in basic training, long single story buildings capable of holding a hundred men and their equipment. Konev stopped and stared at one, causing the rest of the entourage to stop with them.

"Do you know what this is General?"

"It's a barracks sir, in D-block section four."

"Yes, and do you know who generally lives in a barracks General?" asked Konev turning and facing Alexandrov, hands clasped behind his back.

"Sir, if you wish to berate me please do not beat around the bush."

"Very well then. Soviet Soldiers live in Soviet barracks constructed by Soviets who have used Soviet military funds to make them. This is a military base correct?"

"Yes it is sir."

"And on this military base, every man sent here, from yourself to the simplest laborer was screened in _minute detail_ to be allowed here. We have a file on every man and woman here. We know everything about them. Where they've lived, their financial situation, their family life, what kind of damned whore they would see on the weekend away from their wife. You were chosen based on your skills, history, and personal fortitude. Every detail of what is being done here has been approved by multiple committees on every level. We had a team of the best engineers and architects design the layout of your Camp. Now within this grand undertaking that is the greatest find not only in Soviet History, but _human history_ you personally take in four thousand inhuman beings right into the heart of our operations without any consultation with Moscow. You know nothing about them. What diseases they they have, what their allegiances are, or who the _fuck_ they are," said Konev, his voice a low hiss so that the reporters a few steps away would not hear. Despite his anger though, his face showed none of it. "Explain why."

"It was an act of humanity sir, and a propaganda victory. We liberated slaves from an Imperialistic Empire filled with Bourgeoisie and feudal lords sir. I thought that the drain on resources would be worth the positive image it would create for us. Word of mouth is how word travels here and I believed that it would inspire other uprisings within the Imperial Empire, further weakening them and making the populace more accepting of us. In the Soviet Union and within the Empire we will be seen as liberators and welcomed when we begin to expand with a much lower chance of guerrilla resistance."

"General, you're a smart man, but you didn't consider all of that in the few moments you talked with them when they were literally at your doorstep. You thought of that afterward to rationalize it and tell me to make me go, oh, my, that is a good idea indeed General. Keep up the good work. But I'm not saying that, do you want to know why? Intelligence tells me that the Empire and its people, in general, don't give a damned about these inhuman nomads. None of them are citizens of the Empire, none. In fact this will most likely hurt our image in the eyes of the regular citizen who will see us upsetting their order of life and replace it with our own. They will see it as us taking the inhuman side over theirs, which will most likely make them question if we are human ourselves. In fact General the only ones that will greet this news with open arms and gratitude are more homeless nomads and escaped slaves. All of which. Will. Come. Here."

"I can see your reservations about the whole affair sir," said Alexandrov.

"I have more than reservations General, I have outright hostility towards it. Sure, we can afford to feed some four thousand more mouths and the barracks room they've taken up won't be crippling, but what are you going to do when the next group shows up? How many are you willing to accept General? Another thousand? Another four thousand perhaps? Ten? Twenty thousand perhaps? You've opened a floodgate General, created a goddamned paradise in this world with free lodging, food, security, and protection. No questions asked. If you're a poor nomad discriminated against wouldn't you take up that offer? You could have very well created a mass migration towards this base. We plan on housing some two hundred thousand Soviet Personnel here and another hundred thousand settlers by the end of the year. Which I might add is only five months away. We are investing billions of rubles here for _Soviet citizens,_ not dog men."

"I wouldn't necessarily allow them all entr-"

"Oh? But you would let more in yes? And those that you didn't? They won't go back, they can't. Not when the Empire has seen them as traitors and defectors. You'll get a slum on the outside of your walls. You'll get disease, starvation, pure heart string tugging misery, all in plain view of the cameras. How will you make them move once they're there? This isn't the era of Stalin anymore, we can't just shoot them and bury them like was once the case. Can't send them to the gulag and we can't feed, shelter, and care for all the destitute of this world. Not when we're trying to accomplish something here. As of yet, the Soviet Public sees no difference between them and the Empire. Right now, the citizens of the Union want _blood_ for what happened in Kiev General. More than you've already spilled. I do wonder though, isn't a little odd that so many slaves escaped from a mine all at once? Could it not be possible, that say some of them are actually spies that seek to undermine us? Perhaps attempt to kill you even? Such a feat would be a political victory at best, but it would _shake_ public confidence in what we are doing here, in the safety of this place and that is simply unacceptable. Just because they are primitive, does not mean that they are incapable of subterfuge."

"I understand sir, I do. However, this war is not a test of our military might, it is a test of our benevolence. If unleashed I could be at the Empire's Capital in three days and take it. The question isn't if we can win, but how we will handle our victory. If we turn up our noses imperiously at those who ask for our help, we show that we are no better than those who enslaved and abused them. We would torture them, not through conscious will, but mindless apathy towards their plight. They would die from our disinterest as surely as if we had pushed the blade into their heart. We formed the Soviet Union on the principles of liberating the working class, the people from their masters so they could have a better life. If we abandon that idea, if we abandon our guiding principle, because it is no longer expedient in our desires, then our Union is built on a house of cards that will surely collapse."

"This isn't a matter of principal and I may have lied when I said that we can't simply shoot them. We control the media, the statements, and who travels in and out of here. If we deem it appropriate, we will dig a pit and fill it with bodies, because like I said General, this isn't about principal. It's about reults."

"With respect sir it is. We can have the greatest intentions and desires, but it is our actions that will determine who we are. Who will believe us when we say that we're finally ready to help after we've already let potentially thousands die? There can be no half measures sir, it's failed every time that we've tried it. There are two ways to conquer and occupy sir and both will work so long as you see it through to the end. If you want them to obey out of love and respect, we must provide for each and every one of them that arrives. They will _love_ us for it. Their children will be taught the Soviet way and we will expand through conversion of the local populace. To do this, we must be fair, kind, and benevolent. We must be understanding of their mistakes and initial resistance, using a feathers touch where we would be tempted to use a hammer. Fight only when necessary, and not an iota more. The other way sir, is to have them fear us so much that they never dare to even look at us. If one of our patrols is attacked near a village, we burn that village to the ground. If a lord sends an army after us, we kill every single man of his army and then the lord and his entire blood line. A mob gathers to protest against us, we kill them all. If an ethnic group will always oppose us, eradicate it until it can no longer do so. Both methods will work so long as you are consistent. I will say right now sir, that I will do everything in my power to have the Soviet Union succeed in its goals here, but if the second option is chosen I may very well find myself forced to resign."

"You may very well be replaced before that General. You are not indispensable to us, no one is. You have made a lot of very powerful men very unhappy, myself included, the only thing being is that you have made an equal number in the Politburo quite happy with your actions. The reporters with me will now, instead of documenting the strength of our defenses, will instead be documenting how generous and caring our Union is to the people of this new world. Which means that in ten minutes when they start asking you questions about how everything is going, you will smile, be cordial, and say how it was your patriotic duty to help those in need."

"Are you telling me that I dodged a bullet then sir?"

"No Alexandrov. Merely that you received a flesh wound where it should have been fatal. The problem with bullet wounds General, is that they bleed for quite a long time. Sometimes what you survive initially merely kills you later. Now there is another matter that we will discuss more at length in private, your recon team making contact as it were. You will be supplied with the new T-64 and T-72 Main Battle Tanks as well as our new BUK anti air missile defense systems. In addition to this, the 86th Guards Airborne Division will be added to your command with their new Mi-24 hind gunships. Their arrival should be immediate, around 1700 hours for the first contingent."

"I'm honored sir."

"Don't be. This is merely a precaution in case what you happen to go against is more dangerous than first thought. I may not like you at the moment General, but I will give you the tools to succeed before you even need them. You will in total have ten divisions under your command when all have come through General, a full army in its own right. Please understand the significance of what you are being given as an indication of how important your assignment is. We are no longer giving you excess divisions that won't be noticed when taken out of circulation, we are giving you category A troops and even an elite airborne division. These movements will be noticed, there absence brought under scrutiny by our rivals in NATO."

"And what would you like me to do with these top tier divisions sir?"

"Win Alexandrov. I expect, demand that you win, the Politburo demands that you win. As I have said, we will talk more on this later. Now, smile for the cameras, we have to make this look good."

xxx

 _Two years ago in Chechnya, at an estate near Grozny._

The man died quietly, his last gasp of life stifled by the gloved hand clamped firmly over his mouth. The Kalashnikov rifle clutched firmly in his hands, slipped from nerveless fingers as he was lowered to the ground. Before his body was even cold it was pulled off the road and into the brush, hidden by the dense foliage. The man had been guarding a narrow, winding mountain road against intrusion. Now, several black clothed men moved quickly, unimpeded past his guard post. The operative known as Sabre 3 among them.

Chechen nationals had grabbed a bus full of Russian students doing an exchange in the region, taking them hostage and issuing a list of demands. They had been holed up in a theater building for the past four days with upwards of thirty hostages and an unknown number of gunmen. There had been sporadic communication between them and the police, with a devolving situation. Frustrated with a lack of progress, the Chechens had cut the finger off of one of the students and gave it to the police in an envelope to show that they meant business with threats to begin killing the hostages if their demands were not met. Even this, grisly as it was would not have warranted the attention of the elite GRU Sptesnaz, it was not their theater of operation. However, one of the students taken hostage was the only daughter of the widower Mikhail Lobov.

Now even the only child of a widower, while sad, would still not warrant the attention of the GRU branch. No, what warranted their attention was _who_ the widower was. Mikhail Lobov was _the_ secondhighest ranking military officer in the entirely of the Soviet Union. He was a General of the Army and a favorite to become the next Marshall of the Soviet Union. He was also a family man, who still grieved the loss of his late wife, never having remarried and he doted on his daughter lavishly, treasuring her above all else. So, with her life so threatened the man had flexed his great power and set loose men who were only ever supposed to be used outside of the Soviet Union. Men sometimes called Russia's pitbulls. On Lobov's word, men died.

Sabre 3 moved quietly and quickly, dressed all in black and armed with a special shortened Kalashnikov, but he was just one of many such men, no more than liquid shadows moving up the side of the mountain. There was no moon tonight, and the sky was overcast settling the mountain in a heavy blanket of inky blackness. The kind that you stare into trying to make out familiar sights from the day time, but are unable to see a man more than ten feet from you standing upright.

The reason that they were here was simple. They knew the identity of the leader of the gang of kidnappers and this was his home. He was a prominent man in the Chechen revolutionary world, with ties in old blood and new money. He and his men had taken hostages and shown that they meant business, so the GRU were going to do the same.

The villa was inspired off of old Russian Empire design, most likely constructed still in the time of the czars. It was a large two story affair, with tall curving arches and a flat roof with several domes. Ivy vines grew up the sides of the building and a garden with chipped and faded statues decorated the front yard. Lights were still visible from inside, as were men walking long circumferential routes around the estate grounds. They disappeared though. Every time they went behind a tall bush, or left the sight of the main house or went behind an outbuilding, the never reemerged. Quick applications of steel and wire was all it took.

Sabre 3 stacked up with the rest of his team at a set of doors leading into the kitchens. The sounds of voices in casual conversation and the scrape of cutlery and clatter of plates filtered in dimly from within. The leader of Sabre team, after confirming that the rest of teams were in place gave the signal to breach. Sabre 3 drew back his booted foot and with a mighty heave, kicked in the door.

With a splinter of wood, the doors flew inwards and surprised cooks and busboys dropped plates in surprise, the porcelain shattering against the tile floor as the GRU Spetsnaz rushed in.

"DOWN! EVERYONE DOWN NOW!"

The chefs and busboys were shoved down roughly, thrown in some cases out of the way and subdued violently. Sabre Lead and Sabre 3 were about to exit the kitchen into the main building when a flurry of automatic weapons fire punched through the doors like they were paper.

Sabre Lead took a full burst to the chest, shredding his combat webbing and pitching him to the floor. He was dead before he hit it. Sabre Three threw himself behind the door frame, Kalashnikov clutched close to his chest while the rest of Sabre Team took cover behind stoves, sinks, or whatever was most substantial. Many of the chefs and busboys were not so lucky, as most had been ushered up near the walls closest to the house interior and acted as human meat shields, soaking up the first outpouring of weapons fire. They fell bullet riddled corpses to the floor, soon turning the tiled floor of the kitchen red. The blood gurgled as it made its way to the drain set into the floor, not that it could be heard over the constant chatter of weapons fire.

There were too many of them here and too well armed for it to be a coincidence. It was supposed to be a family gathering tonight, but it seemed that they had been expecting something like this. Or been tipped off.

Sabre Three was shaking, bullets punching through the wall all around him, chips of masonry stinging his cheeks even through his balaclava and dust clogging his nose. To someone watching he would have appeared to be terrified, but if they would have seen his face, stripped of its black covering, they would have seen a feral grin of almost unrestrained glee. A low, almost manic chuckle covered by the rattle of weapons fire.

The swinging doors to the kitchen opened and a Chechen with an older model AK 47 walked through, barrel still wafting smoke. He died before he knew what he was facing, a burst of 7.62 cartridges removing a sizable portion of his skull, spattering the wall behind him.

The man behind him entered firing in the direction that Sabre three had fired from, but barely had time to register surprise as Sabre 3 came up from a crouch, batting his rifle to the side and driving his own hard into his stomach. As the Chechen doubled over, Sabre three wrapped the sling of his rifle around him, controlling his movements and exited the kitchen using the man as a human shield.

There were several more waiting in the vicinity directly outside of the kitchen, but they hesitated when they saw that their comrade was standing between them and the black clothed Spetsnaz. Just as Sabre 3 knew that they would and they paid for their hesitance. The first died while still contemplating what to do and the second as he resolved to shoot regardless. The third died doing his forced role of human shield and Saber three discarded him as the lifeless body fell to the ground, bullets passing by him close enough he could feel the air as they passed by, his own Kalashnikov answering in kind, except that Sabre 3 didn't miss.

He rolled behind a decorative column and gained a moments respite. Men were yelling loudly and there was weapons fire all over the villa as the other teams found similar welcoming parties.

The Chechens a few scant feet from Sabre three were yelling conflicting orders to each other, but were cut short as the rest of Sabre team emerged from the kitchen, taking down the now exposed Chechens with ease. They shot them once in the head as they passed each prone figure to ensure that they were dead and Sabre 3 joined them, flicking away his empty magazine as he loaded a new one.

They met resistance in every hallway and every room they went through. However, these were men with minimal training and experience that dealt mostly with shooting at the odd law enforcement officer or off duty reservists. Not Spetsnaz. Though there were a lot of them.

Radio chatter was saying that their target was trying to flee out the west entrance to get to the garage and to converge in that direction to cut them off.

Sabre 3 rolled through a half open doorway to avoid the fire from two more guards who had rather unexpectedly each sprung from either side of a T hallway after it had appeared that they had eliminated all of them. However, Saber 3 might have been better off to have stayed where he was.

He had rolled right into the middle of three Chechens, all of whom were armed. Sabre 3 rose, holding down the trigger as he did so, stitching a bloody zipper like trail up one of the mens body as he did so until the Kalashnikov clicked dry, then threw the empty rifle at the second Chechen, drawing his Makarov pistol as he did so. He shot the man twice in the head in a rapid double tap and watched him fall. The third however, proved to be a more difficult adversary.

He tacked Sabre 3 and they fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs, grunting and hitting each other, but with Sabre 3 unable to bring his pistol to bear. It discharged twice as the Chechen beat his hand against the floor until Sabre 3 let go of it. The man pinning him to the ground had a thick beard and was a good fifty pounds or more heavier than Sabre 3 was. His breath stank of cheese and he was in the process of trying to use his superior weight to force the knife into Spetsnaz's flesh.

Sabre 3 put every ounce of hard won strength into resisting the downward descent of the blade, but found it inexorable, his own strength insufficient to stop it. So instead of pitting brute force against brute force, he tried a different tactic.

Shifting his weight and bringing his legs up around the Chechen's neck, Sabre 3 reversed their positions with a mighty heave, but was unable to retrieve his sidearm. So instead he forced the Chechen's arm into a lock, breaking it before driving the knife down, sinking it to the hilt in the large mans chest. Then pulled it out and sheathed it in the mans neck for good measure. He took in a few more shallow breaths, but the river of crimson pulsing from his neck and his ruptured heart soon saw his gaping breaths end and he grew still. Before this though, Sabre 3 was already gone.

After the escapade in the kitchens, and encounters of servants with hidden guns, they shot everyone who wasn't their VIPs. Maids, servants, butlers, guests, guards. In turned into a slaughterhouse, hells own resort that had reserved these people their very own suite. In time, the screams faded and the rattle of gunfire subsided, with only the quiet sobbing of a trio of small children and the rebel leader's wife.

They bound and gagged them bundled them into a corner of the Villa where they took a picture of them from a colour Polaroid camera. Several in fact, and even some of the villa and the dead distant relatives and their guards, all except one.

She was a small girl with dark hair and eyes, one of the twins and her identical sister being bundled off with the rest of her family, but she had been left in the care of Sabre 3. Now the GRU are not nice men, they're trained to follow out their orders no matter what and be utterly loyal to the Union. To call them soldiers, would be inaccurate in a way. They are specialists, problem solvers without scruples that carry out the will of the Union, no matter their orders and their orders had been clear. The Chechen had sent a clear message that he was serious, so they were going to send a message that they were just as serious.

The girl was odd. Despite all the gunfire and violence, she merely stared at Sabre 3, even when the young Spetsnaz pulled out his knife.

The next day a box was placed in front of the theatre with a manilla envelope on top. Upon assurances that the rebels inside would not be fired upon, the door was opened and the box was brought inside.

The box was nondescript, sturdy, yet made of cheap, but thick cardboard and taped shut. The manilla envelope the kind that you could get in any post office in the Soviet Union. The manilla envelope, much to the horror of the Chechen leader, contained photos of his wife and children save one, bound and gagged as well as photos of his home, bullet riddled and blood stained. But beyond that, there were photos of family members of every man present in the envelope. Not bound and gagged, but taken as they were doing daily things. Going to school, working in the garden, hanging the laundry, even eating supper. There was also a note in the envelope.

"Know that if the hostages are not released immediately, a similar fate will happen to the rest. Look in the box." It was a short message, and ominous in its meaning.

With trembling hands, the man who had been waging a personal war secretly against the Soviet Union for the better part of his life, a rich man with loyalty of hundreds of fighters peeled back the tape and opened the nondescript box. His wail of grief is said to have penetrated the walls of the theatre, making the police present believe that someone was being murdered inside. For when he opened the box, he found his daughter's head, wrapped, almost mockingly in how delicately it was done.

The hostages were released shortly thereafter and Lobov got his daughter back, the police their terrorists, and the students got to go home. Publicly, no one knew why the Chechen's had given up so quickly, but privately the GRU units involved were given praise and promotion by Lobov himself. Among them a young man of promising potential and remarkable skill. Feliks Volkin was promoted and became a team leader for his part in the raid despite his age, discarding the call sign Sabre 3 for Sabre Lead.

xxx

"Do you think that these guys are a lot more advanced that us? I mean they're still using Phantoms," said Vitsin, the young blonde medic pointing to a distant airfield where several of the aircraft were parked.

"Aren't our MiGs wrecking them in Vietnam?" added Grekov. Grekov was about average height, but had the body of a runner with dark brown hair and gray eyes.

"Yeah," admitted Vitsin. The 21s are actually getting positive kill ratios. I've heard it's because the Americans took the guns off of their planes and their missiles aren't as accurate as people think. Though their new F15s have been knocking our planes out of the sky down there."

"That's just Vietnamese pilots though, not Russian ones," said Grekov dismissively.

"True," conceded Vitsin. "Still, their helmets look like it's made of the same kinda stuff our vests are, but better. And they've all got night vision goggles, or something that clips onto their helmet that they can put over their eyes. Though compared to Camp Zhukov, this place isn't very big. What do you think, about one division? Maybe two with all all their support stuff? Probably planning on expanding though. Hey! Farmboy! What do you think?"

"Me?" asked the young marksman Davydov, pointing to himself rather dumbly. He was a short man, still a kid really at 17. He weighed maybe a hundred and thirty five pounds soaking wet, but fit from a life of farm work and surprisingly strong for his size and his dark blue eyes never seemed to miss anything.

"Yeah, what do you think about all of this?"

"Well I don't know about their gear, but I think that this place is as big as it's gonna get once their little fortress is finished honestly."

"How do you figure that?" asked Grekov

"Well, when I was fifteen I helped my dad make a little extra money by doing some survey work. Mostly I'd just put down these wooden stakes wherever they told me to and carry stuff. You know, mark stuff out so that the work crews that came in would know where they could build or cut down trees and stuff."

"Oh yeah, we drove past a lot of those when we were leaving Zhukov," said Vitsin. "Kinda embarrassing really, didn't know what they were."

"Yeah, and when you look out there, you don't see any of them," said Davydov, gesturing beyond the wire mesh fence."

"Huh. Well at least there's more of us over here anyways. That's at least kind of reassuring."

"What would be more reassuring would be if I had my Kalashnikov back," grumbled Belikov, sitting at a picnic table playing cards.

"What would you need your Kalashnikov for Belikov?" demanded Vitsin.

"Makes me feel better. Good to have it around."

"He just wants it, because he almost got eaten by a damned Dragon when we went and smashed that army first week we got sent it," said Grekov laughing.

"Shut up, it wasn't funny," said Belikov sourly.

"It kind of was though, damn thing chased you half way around the camp and you got away by crawling under a T-55. Damn, that was something though. That dragon just exploded when that 105 hit it at point blank range. Pieces went everywhere," laughed Averin, which ended up sparking an argument.

Vitsin left it to them to sort out, and sat close to the wire mesh fence looking out over the low rolling hills leading to the camp. There was a town of sorts growing outside of the base about a mile or so away and patches of trees beyond. There were scars of a battle that had taken place though, craters and broken pieces of armor still littered the fields leading up to Alnus hill. The Japanese were messier than the Soviets though, they hadn't made an effort to clean up their mess. Or maybe they had left the remains of the armies sent against them as a warning?

Whatever the reason, it couldn't be helped that they were all starting to get a little agitated. They had been here three days and hadn't seen the Lieutenant in the past two. Their weapons and radios had been confiscated and they weren't being told what was going on. They were given quarters and food, but they weren't allowed to leave their little area which was only adding to the agitation.

The little town that the Japanese had set up of cheery looking wood building actually extended into the base itself, albeit with a checkpoint before it got into the base itself. However.

Vitsin squinted, seeing trucks a large puff of dust and dirt fly into the air.

"Hey. Hey you guys, come take a look at this!" called Vitsin.

"What?" asked Belikov.

"Something's happening over there. Look!" True to his words, another explosion of dirt flew up into the air and the sound, like a small bomb going off reached them moments later.

"Are they under attack?" pondered Belikov aloud.

"I don't think so, I don't hear any gunfire," said Davydov, ever preceptive.

"The Imps don't have guns idiot," chided Averin.

"I meant the SDF's guns. There isn't any shooting."

"Oh yeah."

"Hey, hey guards! There's something going on in the town down there," called out Vitsin to their marine guards. But, either not understanding them, steadfastly just ignoring them, or both, they never twitched a muscle.

"Hey don't ignore me. Hey Jarheads!" said Vitsin, now getting offended. "There. Is. Something. Happening. In. The. Town!" enunciated the medic, slowly and loudly like he was talking to very dull or very slow children. Frustrated, he picked up a small rock and threw it at the Marines, which bounced off the mans helmet. Very slowly, the marine, the size of a small truck turned around and he was the biggest, blackest man that Vitsin had ever seen and he did not look pleased in the slightest.

"Oh hell."

xxx

Ianthe had walked the remaining miles into the expanding city on the slope leading to Alnus hill. She had originally had her traveling cloaks hood up, shielding her face, but found that doing that actually made her stand out more than not, so she put it down.

There were lots of men in green walking around, but more so, at least in the town, were nomadic peoples and Imperial citizens. Or ex-Imperial as the case could very well be. It wasn't like any town that Ianthe had ever been in though, it was too clean, smelled too good. There was no sewage, no readily visible garbage, and everyone looked remarkably clean, like they had all bathed that day and there were a lot of shops. All of which sold goods that had to have originated from their homeland.

Ianthe couldn't believe the laxity of the security though. Even a small city with only a few thousand people would have had guards search her and more than likely confiscated her sword that was currently secured to her waist beneath her traveling cloak.

The buildings were all brand new, made of wood, and looked as if they had been put together by professional carpenters with proper tools rather than simple villagers with no real idea of construction. The roofs were shingled with actual shingles and not thatched with straw or branches. One feature actually made Ianthe stare in wonder though.

She knew that the Soviets were rich beyond measure which explained why they had so much glass and of such high quality in addition to mirrors of such clarity that they could merely stick them anywhere they chose to. But these were mere villagers, how could they afford to put _glass_ in their windows? To hire a glassblower and pay them to make this many windows would have cost a fortune and the quality of the glass spoke of a master glassblower who had done it.

Stiffening, but forcing herself to relax, Ianthe saw two of the dark haired green men walking down the street. Not necessarily towards her, but down the street she was on. After a moment she realized that she was staring and immediately averted her gaze.

Trying to look normal and blend in, Ianthe ducked into a store directly to her side, looking at various things without any real interest of buying them. There were lanterns overhead that gave light without flames. Luella had told her that those were lights that used electricity, similar to lightning to work, but it just sounded like more magic to Ianthe. They were similar to the ones on the wagons that the Soviets used, but different.

"Hi, can I help you with anything?" asked a cheerful voice. Ianthe turned and saw that it clerk who was talking to her. She was a nomad and clearly not human, but she was still running a store which was more shocking than anything Ianthe had seen today. Nonhumans worked in stores all the time, but in the back, out of sight and out of mind. Not acting as the shopkeeper.

"I am just browsing your wares thank you. I must ask though, where did you get all of these...goods?" asked Ianthe, picking up a writing instrument with switches that when pressed down put some kind of quill point down that was filled with ink. A pen Volkin had called them? Whatever it was it felt very cheaply made, not at all like the one that Volkin had used to take notes.

"Oh, well we get all of our wares from the SDF from the land of Japan and they employed me to run the store, can you believe that?"

"No actually," said Ianthe bluntly.

"I know right? I mean all I had to do was learn how to speak Japanese and now I'm learning how to write their language. Best part is, they pay me to learn it."

"They pay you to learn?" said Ianthe, half as a question, half as a statement of disbelief. It was common knowledge that you paid your mentor for their knowledge and experience to take the time to impart that onto you. For someone to pay you to learn how to work for them seemed almost inconceivable. Even the Skyraiders, when adopting orphans and training them how to fight were basically making an investment.

"Yeah, they call it a training wage. Two months ago I was sweeping floors and moving casks in some crummy tavern, and now I've got this job. Heh, the heaviest thing I've got to lift is boxes of plastic pens. The job is a breeze and there's no bandits here, the SDF and the yew ess em see patrol here all the time. Hey, you don't look entirely human, you part elvish or something?"

"And what if I am?" demanded Ianthe adversarial, hand going halfway to the hilt of her sword.

"Woah, hey hey, calm down. I didn't mean it like that," said the girl, throwing her hands up in a placating gesture nervously.

"Then what did you mean by it then? Speak plainly."

"Well the guys here, they aren't like the Imperial Soldiers," said the clerk, lowering her voice and leaning in almost like she was sharing some kind of secret. "In fact they _love_ anything different. I mean elves, cockatrices, vixens, even warrior bunnies. If you've got some part of you that doesn't look human, they follow you around like lost puppies. There was one SDF guy, he saw a cat girl and I thought that he was going to go crazy and propose right there and then. You know," said the clerk appraising Ianthe. "You've got a good figure, you could make a lot of money being a barmaid at the local tavern."

"A barmaid?" said Ianthe, her voice low and venomous. She threw back her traveling cloak over her shoulder, revealing her articulated draconian knight armor and mythril longsword. She drew her blade with a sharp rasp and held it up for the girl to see.

"This is how I make my living and earn my keep. I am a draconian knight of the Skyraiders from Messalon. I did not train for war all of my life, merely to discard my pride and honor to serve drinks to impotent drunkards in search of cheap coin. I am a warrior and you would do well to remember that girl."

"O-okay, I-I didn't mean to offend you. Really, I didn't," stammered the cockatrice behind the counter.

"I did not think so. Now, I have some questions."

"S-sure, anything you want. Really."

"There is an apostle of Emroy here, that travels with the SDF as you call them. I would like to find her, do you know where I can find her?"

"Well, no. Not right now that is," said the cockatrice quickly. "I mean she comes and goes, either usually wandering around town or else further in the military camp. She's usually in town around this time. You aren't going to, um, use that sword on me. Are you?"

"What? No, why?" asked Ianthe, a frown creasing her face.

"Well you drew it, and pointed it at me."

"Oh, heh, I apologize for that. I just like to articulate and I don't really think when I get mad," said Ianthe sheepishly, sheathing her sword. Her father had given her more than one swat on the head for drawing her sword in anger, or to make a point. Someone would have thought that she would have learned from that by now.

"Okay. Well, is there anything you wish to buy?"

"No, I have to find the apostle of Emroy. I may speak to you again later," said Ianthe, waving as she left.

"Goodbye, have a great day," said the cockatrice smiling, but her legs, hidden below the counter quivering violently. As soon as Ianthe was gone, the cockatrice went to the back and told the SDF liaison what had happened and he immediately called the MP's to be on the lookout for a silver haired woman with a sword. Ianthe, ignorant of this, continued her search.

As it turned out, you could not use Silver to buy things in this town. Or at least not from establishments owned in part or wholly by the SDF. You could however, if you so chose go to an exchange merchant you would give you paper notes that the SDF used as currency, but Ianthe didn't trust it. Silver and gold had value, if not for the country the coin was minted in, then the simple fact that it was silver or gold had value. The weight of it was an assurance of wealth and security. She would not trade it so quickly for pieces of paper. So instead she used silver for one of its more useful purposes, loosening tongues.

Not for every fool though, just those who would legitimately know something of interest or value about the Apostle. Rory Mercury, the nigh millennium old demi-god and high priestess of Emroy. She had become the apostle at a very young age which gave her the appearance of a young girl, almost a child, but it was a sick ruse. The Priestess was very old and had killed more men then there was wheat stalks in a field. A cold blooded killer who delighted in death in pain, not merely a phantom of the battlefield, but a demon of it come to claim the souls of those slain upon it. In fact actively participating in the mayhem.

So even though she was actively pursuing the Apostle, a cold ball of dread had settled in her stomach. Icy tendril extending to every part of her being, dulling her senses and weakening her resolve. To challenge an apostle, especially one of Emroy was asking for death, if not outright pleading for it. She was looking for the apostle, but a part of her did not want to find Rory. She found out other things though, useful things.

There was an elf, and a young human girl who traveled with the Apostle and the SDF. She also learned that the commander, who most likely had met with Volkov with named Itami Youji. A junior officer much like Volkin tasked with a similar mission. If she could find any of them, then she could use them to perhaps gain entrance to the main military camp. As luck would have it though she didn't need to look very hard to find the Apostle.

"Rory Mercury! Turn and be recognized," commanded Ianthe to the Priestess of Emroy, walking with the blonde high elf she had heard about named Tuka. Her voice sounded commanding, but on the inside she felt as if she was made of water, weak and needing only a pinprick to fade away to nothing.

"Who, me?" asked Rory turning, a coy smile on her face. The picture of innocence if not for the utterly massive halberd that she was carrying as if it weighed no more than a feather. They were in an open square area in the middle of a cluster of shops whose vendors sold food.

"Yes priestess," said Ianthe advancing. "You traveled with a man three days ago. A foreigner and I have questions about him."

"Questions? That sounds boring. Come and ask me again later okay? I'm busy right now." Rory turned and began walking away, when with a whistling _thunk_ a knife embedded itself in the wooden beam of the building directly next to her head, only a hands span from it.

"Do not turn you back on me Priestes-" Ianthe was cut off as the knife, in a movement too fast to follow was pulled from the building and thrown back at her. Ianthe felt the air from the blade as it passed and it took her a moment to realize that it had cut her cheek, a line of crimson dribbling down the side of her face and onto the ground.

"You shouldn't play with sharp toys, you might get hurt." Rory was smiling, but it wasn't a kind smile, but one of cruel intent. The lipstick on her lips, as if by magic had changed from cherry red to a deep purple. Ianthe, very much afraid, but finding death preferable to dishonor pressed on undeterred.

"There was a man. His name was Feliks Volkin, a senior lieutenant in the Red Army. What have you done with him?" Ianthe advanced on the priestess as she spoke until only a few paces separated her from the apostle.

"Done? Why would I do anything with a man I hardly know? Do you think so little of me to act so crudely? And in such a tone. What do you intend to do if you don't like what you hear? I wonder, but you are so afraid," the smile only seemed to deepen after that.

"I will not ask again priestess what have you done to him?"

"What is he to you?"

"He is my lord, and I am his sword and shield. I serve him and I will be told where he is and what has become of him."

"And who would you be, exactly?"

"I am Ianthe, daughter of Acamus and you will answer my question."

"Oh, a Messalonian huh? Took me a moment to place the accent. You people are always getting so caught up in your honor and blood debts it really does get so irritating." Smiling cruelly, Rory leaned in close to the mercenary. "I killed him." Laughing, before Rory could say anything else, a roar of pure primal rage filled the square and she had to bring her halberd in place to block a blow from a longsword that had filled the mercenary's hand so quickly it was almost as if it had been put there by magic.

"I killed him."

Those words had melted the icy ball of dread and terror in Ianthe's stomach and boiled what remained into a frothing cauldron of molten steel, fiery and uncontrollable. Moving on instinct, she had drawn her own blade and attempted to behead the Apostle of Emroy. Her Mythril blade singing through the air as it was put to deadly purpose. Five inches. That was how much farther her blade had to go before it met the Apostle's flesh, but a twirl of the Priestesses wrist had seen her giant halberd moved into place to block the blow, and a flick to send Ianthe back stumbling with a clash of steel. Despite this though, the priestess never stopped smiling.

Ianthe adopted an Ox guard and charged the Apostle, moving with the grace and skill of a master swordsman, she unleashed a flurry of blows in but a heartbeat, yet each was blocked with almost contemptuous ease by Rory. Her weapon didn't sing through the air as it moved, sounded more like a warhammer swung too quickly. The great weight of her weapon roughly pushing the air out of the way rather than cutting through it.

It was a change in demeanor, not even a physical cue, but more of the look in the Apostle's eyes that warned Ianthe that she was about to go on the offensive. A mere manipulation of the wrist and the great halberd was raised high overhead, far too quickly for something of that weight.

Ianthe leaped back, abandoning her attack a split second before the halberd fell like the rush of an avalanche and when it hit, dirt and pieces of the hard packed road flew up, almost like someone had used magic to make the earth erupt, the sound like thunder. Ianthe shielded herself from the debris, wincing as smaller pieces rebounded off of her face and a few larger pieces off of her armor. Ianthe blinked quickly to clear her eyes of the dust and could only stare in shock, seeing the halberd being withdrawn from a crater larger enough for several full grown men to lay down in trailing dirt.

"Good, I'm surprised you were able to dodge. Tell you what, we can stop now if you want to. I'll even let you leave. How about it?" The Apostle asked the question as if this was a game to her, the large halberd resting on her shoulder.

"I can not leave, nor do I wish to. I must see you dead or die in the attempt, there is no alternative for me. So come at me whore of Emroy," said Ianthe, adopting a fools guard, lowering her center of gravity, mythril blade trailing behind her and widening her stance. She moved through the stances as if they were as natural to her as breathing, her blade merely an extension of her own arms.

"Ah, well at least you'll make a pretty corpse then." The hard packed dirt turned to dust under her feet as Rory moved, bringing her halberd around like a farmer scything his field, intending on cleaving Ianthe in half.

Ianthe was not wholly prepared for the speed of the Apostle, though she had been expecting it. More of a force of nature then facing a halberder.

Wait for the perfect moment, Ianthe mentally coached herself as time seemed to slow, revealing everything in minute detail to her. The near murderous look of glee on the Apostle's face, the halberd picking up speed in its arc, even the way the frills rippled on the formal dress resembling a maids attire. Now.

Ianthe leaped into the air, rolling and drawing her knees up in tight to her chest as the halberd passed underneath. Ianthe hit the ground firmly on her feet, sword ready to bring up, but already the halberd was coming down in a diagonal arc towards her. Committing fully, Ianthe rushed ahead, the halberd missing her by no more than a hairsbreadth as it passed overhead, crashing into the ground with an explosion of dirt and dust, but now she was within the Apostle's guard.

The mythril blade whistled as it was brought up, glimmering in the noonday sun, slowing only slightly as it bit into flesh, goring the apostle from hip to shoulder, loosing a spray of blood, surprise on the Apostle's face. Yet Rory brought her halberd up again a split moment later like she had not just been mortally wounded.

Ianthe managed to deflect to blow, but it hit with the force of a galloping horse and nearly spun Ianthe around, numbing the fingers of her sword hand, the mythril blade ringing as if in pain from the glancing blow. The halberd now held entirely upright like a monument to war and death, ready to descend. With a snarl, Ianthe barged into the Priestess, her companion dagger in her hand. It was a quick, but poor thrust, yet one that found the Apostle's throat and kept going until it lodged into the spine at the back. A strangled gasp escaping Rory's throat as blood welled around the blade lodged in it.

With a howl of mindless rage, Ianthe brought her longsword down and lodged it to the hilt just above the collarbone of the Priestess, the end of the blade exiting out of her lower back, bathed in red.

"For Volkin, the man you murdered now avenged and for my honor now regained," snarled Ianthe pushing the blade in deeper. The flesh squelching as the mythril was forced in deeper. She was vaguely aware of the blonde elf who had been with the priestess screaming. Ianthe felt the priestess go limp, the light drain from her eyes and begin to fall slack in her grip. The halberd loosening from her grip, then stop. Half slumped over, sword pinning her body to the ground and a dagger in her neck, the priestess stopped as if suspended by invisible wires. Then, Rory's head came back up like a sick marionette, a smile on her face.

"Very good, but not _quite_ good enough."

Ianthe stared in horror for a moment, eyes going wide, but it was long enough. Rory hooked her fingers under the lip of her cuirass, then lifted her up and _threw_ her armor and all. A full grown woman of the Messalonian Skyraider draconian knights, with enough force for her to hit and go through a wooden wall in a shower of splinters and broken wood. She tumbled, her body numb from the force of the impact and only alive because of her steel protection.

Ianthe's vision switched rapidly from the hole in the wall, the roof, and the floor as she tumbled end over end. When she finally came to a stop, she wanted to lay still for all of eternity, but instead pushed herself up on trembling arms, legs quivering and seeing double in her vision. By the time she was back on her feet, she was vaguely aware of Rory coming through the hole in the wall towards her, pulling out the mythril sword with a sucking of flesh, before tossing it idly to the side with a dull clatter.

The rest of the patrons in what was revealed to be a tavern were looking on in shock, but Ianthe brought her fists up into a fighting stance, steel armored gauntlets held in a classic boxing stance.

"You ruined my ceremonial clothing," huffed Rory, pulling at the bloody slash marks on her dress, the flesh underneath as unmarred as that of an infants.

Ianthe was a large woman, standing at six feet tall with long limbs and she had been taught how to fight from when she was just a child. As such, she could hit very hard and wearing her steel gauntlets, she could hit as hard as she was able to without fear of injuring her hands. Not that she was concerned about hurting herself at this point.

Advancing quickly, she put all of her power and training into a classic pugilistic punch, throwing her whole body behind the blow, rocketing her steel covered fist forwards like a cavalry charge. Only for it to be caught and stopped dead by an amused Rory.

"You know, I wasn't expecting you to be that good," said Rory with a laugh. "You would have killed me if I was mortal. Fortunately, I'm not."

Pulling hard on Ianthe's arm, Rory swung the woman around, lifting her off of the floor and threw her through another wall of the tavern in another splinter of wood, watching the mercenary tumble end over end, before coming to a stop. She laid still, but was still breathing, blood flowing down her forehead from a cut. Her armor was dented and her muscles were quivering from trauma and exertion.

Rory kicked her over so that she was laying on her back, Ianthe's eyes unfocused, not truly seeing Rory. Rory brought up her halberd, sharp point hovering over Ianthe's throat.

Whistles blasts filed the area as SDF soldiers in green with MP armbands rushed into the square. Rory put the halberd down.

Xxx

Ianthe regained lucidity sometime around the time that she was being pulled out of one of the green men's carriages. She stumbled like a new hatchling on unsure legs, every movement a new kind of torture to her battered body. She was only dimly aware of what was happening to her as she was led down a hallway that was like stone, but wasn't and far too clean. More of those lights overhead that used energy like lightning. She didn't know what was going to happen to her, but what did it matter?

The man who had hired her, given her a contract, a fresh chance at a life she thought was gone forever was dead. A man that she was supposed to protect with her life and had failed to do so. Then had failed to avenge him. She was nothing but a failure in the eyes of both men and gods and it weighed heavily on her soul, making her feel as if she was but a hollow vessel.

"Ianthe?"

The voice was familiar and the mention of her name made Ianthe look up and to her disbelief, see Feliks walking the opposite way, next to a man who looked like an officer.

Ianthe had been told that it was her elvish blood that made her so temperamental. Whereas elves felt emotions much more strongly and deeply that humans, they also had a restraint and thoughtfulness to keep it in check whereas humans had impulsiveness and passion that amplified their own emotions to a heightened degree. Ianthe had gotten traits of both of her parents races, the deep emotion and feeling of the elves, with the impulsiveness and passion of the humans. Needless to say, it led to some varying results.

"Volkin, you're alive!" cried Ianthe gleefully, joy making her heady and warm before spreading to the rest of her body, making her feel as if she had done nothing more strenuous than go for a mild run. Giggling like a girl, her elvish heritage making it lyrical like water tinkling atop of crystals, Ianthe practically launched herself at the young Soviet officer, wrapping her manacled arms around him and kissing him. Laughing merrily in the way only elves can laugh.

"You're alive! You're alive!" Cried Ianthe joyously. "You're ali-you're alive," said Ianthe, her demeanor changing immediately as she realized that she had tried to kill an apostle of Emroy, the god of war, death, and other unpleasantness to avenge a man that was still alive. She glared at him, her two ice chip eyes turning as cold as the ice they appeared to be.

"You're alive. You fucking idiot."

 **AN:** Well I'm gonna get some feedback for my own personal Seven moment, but before that I'd just like to say, please don't put my head in a box for doing that. I like it on my shoulders and it likes being there. We're both quite attached to each other.

I remembered hearing one time about a hostage situation either in Russia or the Soviet Union where they had taken a Russian diplomat or his family hostage and cut off a finger to show that they meant business. The Spetsnaz then did the same with a member of the hostage takers family and sent it to him. Needless to say they let the diplomat go as the story goes. I always found that the GATE series, while good, tended to portray their protagonists as holier than thou do gooders, while literally everyone who was against them or voiced opposition to what they were doing, were basically mustache twirling cartoon villains.

So with my character Feliks, while a good natured guy who tries to do the right thing and likeable in his own way, has done some very bad things in his life when ordered to and is capable of doing them again. I like having characters that you can argue are good or evil depending on your point of view, like for example Ianthe. She's a mercenary, kills people for money, but she's loyal, honest, and brave. All good qualities, but with a different set of morality. Her honor is everything to her and she is essentially a _medieval_ mercenary and we all know how medieval mercenaries behaved. The answer is not nicely, so while we haven't explicitly seen her do bad things, it's pretty much a given because of her life. In fact the only really innocent one out of the Soviet group is Luella and I did that on purpose.

PS. Don't ever look in the box.


	5. Chapter 5

It took some time and smooth talking, but Feliks was able to explain that Ianthe worked for him as a scout and had most likely just been concerned about him and come looking for him. Apparently she had threatened several people in town and gotten into a fight with the freaky little girl that was apparently almost a thousand years, which explained her current battered state. He had had to swear up and down that she would not cause problems so long as she was with him. They had agreed, especially after Ianthe had proven quite violent when they had tried to separate her from Feliks, choking her marine escort with her cuffs until Feliks had gotten her to let him go. Needless to say that had not gone over well.

That had been yesterday though, when she had first arrived, bloody, battered, but seemingly overjoyed to see him like she had found her long lost friend, hugging and kissing him, laughing while doing it. And that laugh, it had been something that wasn't possible in the human capacity to make. A type of joy that could not be merely conveyed by sound, or at least not thought capable to be able to convey. It had been musical, almost magical in its quality even. At least for the few moments she had been happy to see him, before a switch had flipped in her and she had become entirely displeased with him and he wasn't exactly able to ask her why.

Looking back now though, it would have been batter if he had let them throw Ianthe in a cell, because she would not leave him alone, wouldn't even leave his side for a moment and it wasn't like she understood him well enough for them to have a meaningful conversation. Or for him to ask her why she wouldn't leave him alone. Regardless there were certain, benefits to having the mercenary around that Feliks's less gentlemanly nature approved of, even if it did make him flush at her proximity.

It seemed that Ianthe wore a black undersuit under her armor, with what he had been told by Luella was made of drake skin, which was apparently very comfortable, strong, and also formfitting. So with her armor basically ruined, the bruised and bandaged mercenary was always following Feliks wearing clothing that really...accentuated her features.

"Ianthe, you don't have to follow me in here. I'll be fine if you leave me alone for thirty seconds," said Feliks awkwardly, wanting to use the urinal, but the mercenary whom seemed to have self proclaimed herself as his bodyguard merely tilted her head quizzically at the mention of her name. He had tried to use a stall, but the mercenary had wanted to follow him in, so he merely settled for the urinal. She was leaning against the wall standing right next to him, arms crossed over her chest, watching him and everyone and everything else that moved in the washroom.

Another thing that Feliks realized about the mercenary without her armor, was how _muscular_ she was. Her arms looked like they had steel cables beneath the skin and her shoulders looked like she'd spent her life pounding in railroad spikes. She looked like an Olympic athlete honestly. Then again her armor had been made of steel and she had moved around as if she had been wearing only a light jacket while wearing it, so it only made sense. She was a far cry from the girls that Feliks had known growing up. They had been delicate and ladylike whereas Ianthe reminded Feliks of a GRU prospect. Young, fit, proud, and a fearless attitude. He'd also noticed something else interesting about the mercenary with her continued close proximity and lack of armor. He'd caught a glimpse of pointed ears, seemingly held in place against her head by tiny metal bands. Not quite as prominent as Luella's, or as horizontal, but still noticeably different and when he'd called her name, they twitched ever so slightly against their bindings. Being honest, he did enjoy having her around, if only for a familiar face. If only she'd let him piss in peace.

Resigning himself to the fact that the mercenary wasn't going to leave, Feliks unzipped himself and started relieving himself, only them realizing that Ianthe was staring down at him.

"Don't look!" said Feliks, turning his body, feeling his face heat up at the fact. The mercenary, seeming unfazed by his discomfort merely gave a shrug and went back to staring at the wall, her ice chip blue eyes going instead to making a Japanese SDF soldier uncomfortable as he washed his hands and they followed him until he left the room.

Feliks finished his business and washed his hands, exiting the bathroom, where his more respectful SDF escorts had stayed to give him some privacy that the silver haired mercenary simply refused to allow him. She had turned into his personal shadow, except that at least his shadow went away when it was dark. However, he would take his new personal shadow over his present situation.

He had met with General Hazama, the commanding officer of the JGSDF in the Special Region as they called it, but that had only been once. Now, they were basically prisoners in all but name and the interviews as they called them, were little better than soft interrogation sessions. He had said who he was, what his mission was, and inconsequential, useless things that were of no weight or importance.

He had lied to the JGSDF and their American allies about several things though. One of which was that those three jeeps were his entire reconnaissance force and they had been resupplied by air for fuel. They had bought this, despite the relatively short distance that they had traveled for the jeeps. It appeared that the people from, well, wherever they were from used the same kind of petro carbon based engines that the Union did, except that theirs were extremely inefficient. Their UAZ jeeps were rated to travel 1950 kilometers on a single tank of gasoline, whereas it seemed that the JGSDF and their American allies were more limited in that regard.

Other things though, he had no choice but to outright answer. Things like where he had come from, where his Gate was, and how many Soviet troops there was. He had been polite, told them that he was not authorized to give out such information. The men interrogating him were good. They had seemingly taken that at face value and asked other questions. Every so often though, in a roundabout way they would ask the exact same questions again and again. Feliks had ask to use the washroom, both to relieve himself and get a reprieve from the constant questions. He was getting worn down, tired, but he had to be extremely careful in what he said, though so far as he was concerned he was done with the charade. If they were being detained, he would have as much said to his face rather than merely having his requests brushed off until a later point in time. After they had finished processing him. Maybe another blood test? We can never be too sure when dealing with a new pathogen. You can go in the morning, when you're better rested. It was always polite excuses, but they were excuses nonetheless.

That was how Feliks found himself back in the room with the two men who were asking him questions today, Ianthe only in the room, because she had flat out refused to be left outside with the marine guards. So, she was in as well, but sitting in a chair in the corner, watching.

It looked like a converted break room, with a refrigerator, cupboards, and a box on the counter that Feliks wasn't too sure the purpose of, but it had numbers on it and it looked like something was supposed to be put inside of it. That in itself told him something though, these people had never considered that they would have to interrogate someone, which either meant one of two things. They either didn't usually take prisoners, or their prisoners were taken through their Gate for further interrogation. Both of those things would be bad for Feliks, though judging from how Itami had acted when they'd first met, and the fact that they'd helped a group of refugees from a dragon attack, the first theory seemed highly unlikely. The second however, seemed like it was a very real possibility. Taken through their gate, Feliks doubted that he would ever escape.

"We only have a few more questions, shouldn't take too much more of your time Lieutenant," said the one man. A Caucasian who looked to be heading into his later forties, much like his partner, A Negro of similar age and disposition to his side. They wore military uniforms, but everything they did screamed of intelligence services. There was a feeling you got around them, once you'd spent enough time around their type. They mimicked the regular military well, but they were always just slightly off. It was things that most people wouldn't notice, hell, Feliks hadn't noticed at first, but the way they talked, how they held themselves revealed what they were.

"With respect Captain, that is what you told me yesterday as well as the day before that and I'm sorry to say that I do not believe you anymore," answered Feliks in Japanese. Another thing he had done was withhold the fact that he could speak English, merely staring dumbly whenever someone spoke it to him and feigning ignorance whenever it was spoken around him.

"We understand your reservations Lieutenant, but you have to understand that we're just as out of depth about this situation as you are. We're just trying to make sense of all of this and you're helping us do that," cut in the Negro man, also a Captain.

"You say that, but for the duration of my stay, other than when I was talking to General Hazama, who I must say I was pleased at his frankness and speed of which he conducted our meeting. I told him everything I've told you, except I did it in an hour, half of that time in which he told me an equal amount of what you are doing here. He was and I believe is still eager to meet with my commanding officers and told me that I was a guest welcome to stay here as long as I wished, my men included."

"I'm sorry that you feel that we're taking too long, but we really just want to have a fuller and clearer picture of what is going on. We don't want to make any cultural mistakes that would cause offense, or inadvertently cause an incident," said the Caucasian again. The two men taking turns it seemed talking to Feliks.

"For not wanting to cause an incident you are going an odd way about it. You are detaining me and eleven of my men, soldiers of a foreign nation whom you've met for the first time in a manner which is obviously against our will."

"If you wish we could allow you to meet with your men," began the Negro captain again.

"See, this is what I'm talking about. You will _allow_ me to meet with my men. To me, these are the conditions of someone with restricted liberty, much like that of a prisoner."

"We never mean-"

"Shut up I'm not done talking yet," said Feliks curtly. "I have been patient. I have been understanding. I have been cooperative as have my men, and I find that not only are we not the guests we were originally led to believe, but are, in fact prisoners, just without the courtesy without being told so much to our faces. If this is the case, then we are either unjustly imprisoned which _will_ create a diplomatic incident the kind which you claim to wish to avoid, or, instead we are at war and in fact are prisoners of war. Is this the case?"

"No, of course not, we're sorry that we gave you that impression. This is exactly the kind of thing that we are wanting to avoid. We were attacked by the Empire in Tokyo which led to over a thousand people losing their lives. We are just trying to avoid a similar scenario, or making someone think that we're going to do the same to them," placated the Caucasian Captain.

"I'm sure that you as a military man can see why we are proceeding like this. We are being cautious, we don't know you or what your government wants or how they may perceive us. We want to avoid any conflict of interest in the Special Region," added the Negro Captain.

"Then why the continued interrogations? You ask the same questions over and over again, merely in different ways. You want troop dispositions, strengths, the location of our Gate, and you continually make questions very much so in the nature of trying to determine our technological prowess. So I will ask again, are we prisoners here, or are we guests?"

"You are guests here," said the Caucasian captain firmly.

"With all of my liberties?"

"Of course."

"That is good then. I thank you gentleman for your time and hopefully if we do meet again it will be under better circumstances. Ianthe, we're going," said Feliks rising from the table, the silver haired mercenary at his side before he had even pushed his chair in.

"Good day gentleman," said Feliks, ignoring the gentle protests and excuses of the officers behind the table so alike that they may as well have been the same man.

Feliks straightened his cap as he headed to the door, opened it, and found his way blocked by two large marines.

"It's alright, your officers told me that I'm free to leave," said Feliks glibly In Japanese. However, much as he expected the marines refused to budge.

"It seems that your men do not understand me? Could you perhaps, elucidate the fact that I am a guest and as such free to leave when I wish to them?" asked Feliks to the Captains.

"I'm afraid that we can't let you leave," said the Negro Captain, his tone now not one of cordiality, but rather a man giving orders.

"I see," said Feliks drawing his Makarov pistol from his holster in a calm fashion, for which he was immediately assaulted by a barrage of commands for and cocking of rifles. Ignoring them, he removed the magazine, worked the action several times to ensure it was empty and tossed it to the two captains.

"I do believe that you do not allow prisoners to retain their weapons correct?" said Feliks, while putting a calming hand on Ianthe, the mercenary not knowing exactly what was being said, but knowing the tone and had appeared like she was getting ready to do something violent and ill advised.

"That is true, but-"

"Please stop insulting my intelligence, I will no longer answer any of your questions or prompts for information and neither will my men. You tried to interrogate them as well, but found that they would not answer any questions which is why you spent so much time trying to get me to talk, isn't that right?" prodded Feliks, the tightening of jaws the only affirmation that he needed. "I believe that I will be taken to my quarters now, right?" The marine behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder answered his question before the captains could.

Ianthe however, didn't take kindly to the marine laying a hand of Feliks and rather abruptly, the silver haired mercenary pushed the marine with enough force to send him stumbling back, interposing herself between Feliks and the marines, the other of which was aiming his rifle directly into her face. Seemingly unfazed by this, Ianthe merely continued glaring at him.

"She doesn't like people touching me," said Feliks unnecessarily.

"Then tell her to stand down, we don't want to hurt her."

"I don't know how to speak her language. Hey Ianthe, if you do three back flips they'll let us go," said Feliks switching to Russian. The silver haired mercenary, merely cocked her head to the side, wishing to understand what was said, but unable to.

"See?"

"Very well. Regardless, you'll be escorted back to your room, it's getting late anyways lieutenant. We'll continue this tomorrow."

"I'm sure that we will," said Feliks.

One of the marines made a grab for Ianthe's arm which she shook, off, then sauntered over to the table where the two captains were sitting. She grabbed a bowl of indigenous berries, popping one in her mouth, all the while glaring at the two officers, as she walked away with the bowl of berries.

"The lady knows what she likes," said Feliks with a shrug.

xxx

"I have to say Alexandrov, that despite my displeasure at your taking in of the refugees, that is the only thing that displeases me about your operation here. You run a very tight ship, so to speak," said Konev pouring himself a small glass of vodka.

The engineers had already finished construction of the Red Army's HQ and as such, Alexandrov was no longer directing operations from a tent. It was a large building, mostly made underground, but with a large above ground part as well which they were currently inhabiting.

It was made of brick, and other readily available, cheap materials that would also last more than ten years before needing replaced. The underground was still bare concrete walls and floors, functional with the wiring and piping in place, but rather bare so far as aesthetics and furniture went. Alexandrov's office however, was furnished with wood walls, carpeted floors, and the General's own furniture was not standard issue.

"Thank you sir."

"Now there is one other thing I wished to ask you about while I still have all of my wits about," said Konev setting his glass of vodka down, after settling into a lushly padded chair. "These assertions about magic here, is there any evidence to these claims, or are they superstitious claims made by the locals as intelligence believes?"

"Well sir, strictly speaking we have not witnessed any such acts of what we would describe as magic, however, that being said our elvish allies have told us that magic is very much rel and that it is considered sacred and that the practitioners are few and far between."

"I assume that all of the elves can use magic though, correct? Much like the works of Tolkien?"

"That assumption would be correct, although we have not seen any evidence to support such claims by the elves, they are adamant that they can use magic however."

"Yet they have never shown themselves able to do so?"

"That is correct sir."

"More superstitious nonsense then I presume. The mining is going to commence soon then, correct?"

"We are going to begin digging in two days. The miners have just been settling in and getting their equipment ready."

"I saw that, but why are they going to the site six miles west? Isn't the mountain built on a large mythril reserve?"

"It is sir, but I was concerned about the Gate. We don't know how exactly it works and I didn't feel comfortable mining around it, or extracting metals from the ground underneath it. As it stands I believe we should leave the deposits under Mt. Rubicon where they are until we can determine that it would be safe to extract them."

"A prudent move General. It would do us no good to even mine all the mythril in this world if we can't transport it back. Plus the loss of all the men and equipment here would be...troublesome if not an outright disaster for the Union, one which I doubt the politburo would be able to recover from easily. The site is secure though? The one you intend to mine?"

"Yes sir, after that column of refugees managed to get so close without advance warning I've deployed the 33rd motor rifle division to the surrounding area to act as a trip wire for us. A full regiment of theirs has been deployed around the mining site to ensure its security. There is something else that I think you should be aware of though sir."

"And what would that be?"

"You know that mine that all of those slaves escaped from?"

"Yes?"

"It's a mythril mine, the largest in the Empire. From what our geologists have been able to determine through discussions with the refugees, the deposit has more than double the mythril available than that of our primary digging site is set to have, with the potential for much larger veins."

"Why are you just telling me this now?"

"I only learned of it today sir."

"I see. And you want permission to liberate this mine and use it for our own purposes correct?"

"Yes sir."

"Not at the moment. We will consolidate where we are. We'll claim the surrounding countryside and establish ourselves, but from what I've heard, that mine is over fifty miles away. That's a long distance to expand in such a short amount of time, especially when I've been told that a further ten to fifteen thousand slaves are said to be working in that mine and surrounding mines. Slaves that we will _not_ be providing for General, your some four thousand refugees was enough, we don't need a sub city of nomads within our camp."

"Very well sir, I just thought that I should let you know."

"No, you wanted to see if I would say yes," said Konev wearily. "We'll have enough mythril to mine in the immediate area. Our primary concern will be expanding South, which the 22nd has been doing into fertile grasslands that will be good for planting crops. Once that is secure, our first waves of colonists will arrive. Mostly from the Ukraine and Poland, they'll be given homesteads and equipment to begin farming. Your job will be to provide for their security as well as that of our miners."

"I am aware of my orders sir."

"Then quit pretending that you aren't," said Konev testily. "By the way, the orcs that you captured when you subdued the surrounding hills and forests, what is your opinion of them? Honestly, not what you've put into your reports."

Alexandrov sighed heavily through his nose before taking out a cigar and lighting it, taking a long drag before answering.

"Honestly? I don't think that they'll ever be able to coexist with anything or anyone. They're violent, vile, and despicable creatures. Violence is common amongst them, even mothers to their own children. They breed fast though, and have a hardy constitution. They grow large and strong and they mature quickly. Seven years and an orc is fully grown and more than likely already killed someone."

"In other words the absolute worst thing to have near a group of civilian colonists?"

"Yes sir. They've rejected all attempts to negotiate a lasting treaty. They seem to view a peace treaty to only last so long as until they're ready to go to war again, which can be quite quickly. They have no concept of our strength or of how dangerous our weapons are. They also don't seem to understand the concept of genocide. I've tried to have my interpreters and officers explain to them that if they don't leave our lands and leave our citizens alone we will kill them all. They seem to think that we mean all the ones that will fight."

"Am I correct in guessing that you don't want to be the one to do it?"

"I won't be the one to do it sir."

"Then you won't be. We'll give them to the Fifteenth Directorate. They'll figure out something to do with them. You still don't approve?"

"Sir. I understand I gave them a condemning appraisal, but I can not condone a genocide. They are violent yes, but never enough so to leave lasting injury on each other. They have their own language, both written and oral, culture, traditions, and for all intents and purposes are sentient beings. I understand that they are a threat now, but I can't help but feel that there is something else we could use them for."

"Very well then Alexandrov. I will give you a month to figure out what you want done with the orcs or if you have an alternate plan for them. After which time if you have no such plan in place they will be turned over to the Fifteenth Directorate and then it will be out of your hands."

"I understand sir."

"Good, then-what was that noise?" asked Konev standing. Outside the door, something heavy had hit the floor with a thump. Then silence.

"There shouldn't be anything out there, but two military police officers. Vlad," said Alexandrov turning to the wizened warrant officer. The veteran gave a nod, before drawing an old service issue TT-33 pistol and advancing towards the door. Konev drew the makarov from his ceremonial holster and Alexandrov produced a similar one from his desk, also hitting a panic button beneath the wooden piece of furniture.

Vlad was just at the door, reaching out for the handle, when it burst inwards. The warrant officer, perhaps due to his years of experience, perhaps having been prepared to do so, fired his pistol four times in quick succession. The report of the handgun deafening in the office and one of the three assailants who rushed through the doorway fell back, holding her gut. One of the others sheathed a long shank into the warrant officers chest.

Alexandrov recognized who the girls were at just a glance. They were warrior bunnies, a primarily female dominated race that had warred with each other incessantly until their recent defeat and subsequent enslavement by the Empire. Stronger and faster than the average human, they appeared more like a girl of less that reputable standing at a Halloween party rather than as an entirely different species. Yet their rabbit like ears and tails were very much real and apparently they also bred like rabbits. They had also earned their name, because they loved to fight.

"VLAD!" Cried out Alexandrov firing his own pistol at the warrior bunnies as the charged into his office, the bodies of the two military police officers just visible beyond the open doorway. Alexandrov had not seen active combat in a long time and as such his marksmanship had degraded, however, it was not aided by the fact the bunnies were hellishly fast.

Konev was firing his own pistol as well, but seemed to be having just as little luck as Alexandrov. He saw Konev go down underneath a leap from one of the assassins, before the other had reached Alexandrov.

He tried to line up a shot, but the warrior bunny kicked him hard in the chest, stealing his breath in an explosive burst of air, and making him bounce off of the wall of his office. Rebounding back, the warrior bunny grabbed him and using his own momentum threw Alexandrov over her shoulder and to the ground.

Alexandrov hit his head when he hit the ground and dark spots like static stole their way into his vision, long snake like tendrils of black extending across his eyes, even as he blinked to clear them and fought to force air back into his lungs. He felt a hand on his neck, holding his throat and saw a face above his own set into a look of grim determination. He was vaguely aware of the dagger raised high overhead, ready to descend. Then a moment before the dagger descended, he saw a black combat boot connect with the woman's face, knocking her off of him and allowing him to breath again which he did so greedily. He then saw Vlad, his wizened warrant officer and friend since the Great Patriotic War rush past, an alarming amount of blood flowing from the wound in his chest.

Alexandrov was just standing back up as Vlad and the warrior bunny came together. Vlad fired twice before the warrior bunny got to him, but he only managed to clip her arm as she rushed into him. Yet as she tried to stab him, the veteran warrant officer adopted a classic knife fighting stance and caught the knife thrust, getting only a shallow cut across his forearm in exchange.

Vlad fired the last two rounds from his pistol, missing the bunny's head as she ducked, but making her shriek in pain as the bullets removed one of her ears. Her hands flying up to the savaged extremity. It was all opening that Vlad needed.

He tacked the warrior bunny to the ground, pinning her beneath his weight and brought back a bear paw sized fist and then brought it down on her face. Again. And again. And again, until his fist was bloody and red, but not from his own blood. The bunny's face now a swollen, ripped, and bloody mess no longer resisting the downward strikes. However, with every blow they had been growing weaker, until Vlad could only rest his fist on her face, breathing shallowly.

"Vlad, are you alright?" asked Alexandrov, ripping off a strip from his tunic to use as a bandage for the warrant officer.

"Are you alright sir?" asked Vlad, the rough grumbling rasp of his voice, a product of a fascist's bayonet that had tried to take the rest of his throat in addition to what it had taken, a white line a reminder across his throat of the injury.

"Yes, yes I'm fine, she never stabbed me. Here, we'll get you to a doctor Vlad. Come on get up," said Alexandrov, his voice heavy with worry at the increasingly shallow breaths his friend was taking and the entire front of his uniform wet with blood.

"I'm glad Artem, I did my job then. But I don't think the doctor will help. The first one, she got my heart, I can feel it. Didn't kill me right away, but she did the job properly anyway. Artem, don't let this change the man I followed with pride. Be the man you've always been, the man who was my friend."

Whatever else the warrant officer was going to say escaped in a sigh as his ever quieting voice had finally silenced, his head slumping forwards, but his body staying atop the warrior bunny how he had been pinning her to the ground.

"Vlad?" said Alexandrov in barely more than a whisper as he put a hand on his friends shoulder. His touch enough to upset the warrant officer, his body falling to the side, his cataract white eye now truly unseeing.

"VLAD!" It was more a scream of agony than an actual word, Alexandrov futilely began trying CPR compressions on the warrant officer, using his own tunic to try tie around the wound, but no more blood was coming out, his heart had stopped beating. Vladamir Adamovich was dead. Alexandrov stared at the body of his old friend, unable to comprehend that he was dead. Staring in shock, bringing his hands turned red by his friends blood to his head. His hands were shaking and as he covered his face with them, the first sobs began to wrack his body. Then the warrior bunny started to get up. Alexandrov felt his grief and sorrow turn into blinding rage, his face turning into a feral snarl of rage.

He forced the warrior bunny back to the floor and forgoing using his own pistol, brought his fist back and brought it back down as hard as he could.

"YOU KILLED HIM! YOU FUCKING BITCH! YOU FUCKING WHORE! VLAD IS DEAD! YOU! KILLED! HIM!" Alexandrov lost himself to his rage, each blow harder than the last and each new blow coming quicker than the last, only the wet and meaty thunk of flesh hitting flesh filled the office. The would be assassins face now no more than a bloody unrecognizable pulp.

"ALEXANDROV!" It was a sharp and commanding voice that cut through Alexandrov's rage. Panting, he looked to see who had called his name and was surprised to see that it was Konev who had called him, a long dagger longed firmly in his shoulder, the other warrior bunny dead with a singular hole in her head. Konev's face was pale with both pain and perhaps the beginning of shock, yet he held himself tall. "She's dead."

The thudding of heavy boots filled the hallway and soon a full squad of spetsnaz were in the office with them, helping Alexandrov to his feet and Konev into a chair.

"I-I'll go get Tiranniel." It was Rissien who had said it, the elf having been relocated to the HQ after the incident with the refugees and having come with the spetsnaz team was now running away from the scene of carnage to get another of his kind.

"This one's still alive sir," said one of the spetsnaz, binding the hands of the warrior bunny that Vlad had shot.

"Make sure that she lives. I want to know who sent them," said Alexandrov, regaining him composure.

"Yes sir," said the spetsnaz, him and another taking the warrior bunny out of the room.

"This is a goddamned mess," said Alexandrov, leaning against his desk, suddenly feeling weak.

"No, it is not," said Konev, his voice strained, but otherwise fine.

"What do you mean by that?"

"What I mean, is that this," said Konev gesturing around, "never happened."

"Three men are dead, and you've been stabbed. How in the hell can this have never happened?"

"Because Alexandrov, what matters now is strength, not weakness. Strength matters or at least the perception of strength. How will it look if the two most powerful men in this camp were almost assassinated in their own command center? It will at the very least demoralize our men and perhaps inspire another such attempt, one which may succeed. Maybe even make settlers fearful of coming. No, these...things did try to kill us, but were stopped by security before they even got close to us. Outside of the command center, so far we never even heard the shots. Say your man did it, that he and those MP's did it."

"I won't cheapen his death like that," snarled Alexandrov.

"He'll get a goddamned medal for it. It's either that or he just disappears from the roster and his family never find out why. This way he can get honored for it. We can not allow this to become public. You may think me a staff officer Alexandrov, but I was in the Great Patriotic War as well, just that I was a major in the NKVD for most of it and I did field work before a rifle bullet shattered my shoulder. We must now, more than ever keep the image that the Red Army is invincible. If our enemies believe with all of their soul that they cannot succeed, then they won't even try."

"I understand," said Alexandrov. "It'll be a nice funeral with full military honors though right?"

"Yes, and we'll present his family with his medal."

"He doesn't have any family. The fascists killed his wife and children in the war. He never remarried and I pulled strings to keep him in the military after he lost sight in his eye. He lost everything else, I couldn't let him lose that too," said Alexandrov quietly, staring at the body of his dead friend. "We fought together from 41 to 45, in the field right next to each other from the very start. He was my best friend, and he's dead because I tried to help some fucking refugees," finished Alexandrov with a snarl hitting his fist off of his desk. His knuckles were stripped and bloody from hitting the warrior bunny, but he seemed to pay it no mind.

"Goddammit," hissed Konev, feeling around the blade of the knife stuck down into his shoulder. "Alexandrov, if this kills me, say I had a heart attack. Lobov will be sworn in if I die and he's a competent man, he'll give you everything you need after this. He's just as appraised of this situation as I am."

"I will," promised Alexandrov. "Are the doctors on their way?" he asked a sptesnaz at his side.

"Yes sir, they're coming now."

Voices suddenly filled the hallway, the lyrical and normally calm voices of elves arguing quickly with that of the spetsnaz guarding the now bloodstained office.

"Let them in," said Alexandrov, throwing his generals tunic over Vlad's face.

It was Rissien and another elf who rushed in, dressed in Soviet fatigues. The other elf, most likely Tiranniel whom Rissien had left in such a hurry to get. Tiranniel was a tall elf with long raven black hair and honey gold eyes that moved with the grace that even other elves could be envious of and had a long swan like neck. All in all a very beautiful woman, but one Alexandrov didn't care too much to see at present.

"I brought Tiranniel to help," said Rissien unnecessarily.

"I see that, what for?"

"She's a healer."

"I don't need a fucking mystic, I need a trained surgeon," said Konev sharply.

"Marshall, I can help you more than any other surgeon. I've been trained in healing magic and I believe that I can be just as effective as one of your surgeons, and much quicker," said the elf. Her voice the quintessence of calm and wisdom, flowing like a calm stream. Patient, wise, and alluring.

"You aren't touching the goddamned knife," said Konev.

"I won't need to touch it Marshall, or even you."

"Please my lords, Tiranniel is the greatest healer amongst my kin. Please, let her help," said Rissien, the elf looking between Konev and Alexandrov.

"Fine. I'll humor her," said Konev, breathing heavily as the shock began to wear off and he felt the pain of the blade.

Tiranniel advanced until she was a few paces from Konev and outstretched her hands. The spetsnaz immediately trained their Kalashnikovs on her, but she paid them no mind. Instead she began to sing.

It was a slow singing, and although Alexandrov couldn't understand the words it brought to mind images of calm, life, growth, and renewal. It was relaxing even just listening to it, like all of his troubles were washing away. Then her hands began to glow, a bright golden light forming first between her hands and then extending over the Field Marshall.

Seemingly on its own, the dagger removed itself from Konev, without so much as a drop of blood and without so much as a twinge of pain from the Marshall. Then, the wound began to close, the flesh not so much repairing itself, as reattaching itself like it had never been split until there was not even so much as a blemish where the dagger had been. The singing stopped and the golden light faded, but Alexandrov could still here the elf's voice, as if it was an echo. A vase on an end table, that had contained wilted flowers were now vibrant and alive again, once more in full bloom merely from their proximity to what had just transpired. Magic.

Konev, put a hand to his shoulder in disbelief, feeling for the wound, but instead finding flawless skin and undamaged muscles. He looked up at the elf, something like awe on his face.

"Is this...magic?"

"Yes Marshall. We do not use it often, for it would be a grave misuse of our gifts, but when it comes to saving a life, we are more than willing to use it."

"I see," said Konev, his eyes alight with all the possibilities of what he had just been learned.

"This healing," said Alexandrov, a desperate flicker of hope in his voice. "Can it...can you help Vlad?" Tiranniel shook her head slowly, eyes closed as if in regret.

"I can not bring back the dead General, merely help the living. If I had been here sooner perhaps, but, I am truly sorry General," finished the elf, wiping at her glistening eyes. "I know he meant a great deal to you."

"How do you know that?" asked Alexandrov.

"I can feel your grief, your sorrow, your anger. It is very strong and yet I also feel resolve, determination, and an inner strength. But I also feel the desire for revenge and bloodshed, but you seem to be suppressing that. I understand why they made you a leader of men General. Would you like me to heal your hand?"

"What? No, I'll let it heal naturally," said Alexandrov inspecting his stripped knuckles.

"As you wish General. Is there anything else you wish for me to do for you?"

"No, you can go," said Alexandrov.

"Wait," said Konev suddenly. "This magic, are there others who can do it?"

"Yes. Many humans and many more nomadic races are able to use it to varying degrees and many different types of magic."

"Can this magic be learned?"

"Not by everyone, but those with the gift, perhaps with training and study they would be able to use it, some may even become quite powerful."

"I see. Thank you for your help Tiranniel."

"I am merely repaying a debt for your aid of my people Marshall, there is nothing to thank me for." Soon it was only Alexandrov and Konev in the room with a handful of sptesnaz bodyguards.

"General, I've changed my mind. Liberate the mine, take in every nomad that you can find. We'll send more engineers, every damned battalion worth in the Union if that is what it takes. Vet them all for magic casters, rune casters, fortune tellers, witches, I don't give a damn what they call themselves, but search for them."

"Are you sure sir?"

"Positive. If this, healing magic is real, then it almost guarantees that the other kinds are real as well. This may be just as useful to us as the mythril. Also get the elves to search our ranks for ones they think could learn how to use magic. I don't care the logistics of it, just get it done."

"Yes sir."

xxx

Feliks awoke to the sound of labored breathing and someone moving around on the carpeted floor of the room. Looking from his bed, He saw Ianthe holding her stomach, and gasping softly on the ground.

Feliks turned on the lamp by his bed and went to the silver haired mercenary who was bracing herself against her own bed, hand over her stomach.

"What's wrong?" asked Feliks, crouching down next to her.

"Pain. Pain," was all Ianthe said, followed by a slew of words in her own language.

Feliks lifted up the hem of her shirt, and his face became grim as he saw her entire stomach was black and blue with bruising. Had she been hurt and the doctors merely missed it? Were her organs bruised?

"I'll get help," said Feliks, rushing to the door and throwing it open, surprising the two Japanese guards.

"I need a doctor, my friend is hurt very badly," said Feliks. The two JGSDF soldiers looked past Feliks to Ianthe on the floor holding her stomach, whimpering softly in pain, beofore the more senior of the two began speaking rapidly into his radio. A few moments later, a medical team was at their door, a medic quickly kneeling down beside Ianthe, prodding her stomach to which she let out a loud wail and a string of what were undoubtedly curses.

"We need to get her to medical," said the medic. The other nurses helped pick up Ianthe and put her on the stretcher. It seemed that it would only be her going and Feliks would be staying put, but then the mercenary latched onto his arm, her grip incredibly strong and she would not let go.

"We need to take her with us, can you get her to let go?" asked the medic after failing to get Ianthe to loosen her grip.

"No, I don't know how to speak her language. She doesn't want me out of her sight," added Feliks.

"Alright, then you're coming too," said the medic.

"Our orders were that he's to stay in his room," said one of the JGSDF soldiers.

"Yeah, well I have a patient that needs care right now so I'm superseding that order. Either help or get out of the way."

The two soldiers actually ended up doing an admirable job of clearing the way for them, as the gurney practically flew down the hallway, Feliks practically running to keep pace, all the while Ianthe's grip never loosening on Feliks's wrist.

Feliks hadn't had time to put on his shoes, and was running down the hallway barefoot, dressed in only his underwear and a shirt, whereas Ianthe was dressed like she was ready to go out of the day, which was odd, because she had gone to bed wearing much less.

He never got too much time to think on it though, because they were soon in the infirmary, and this late at night they were the only ones there. A screen like a television was at a desk with a chair in front of it and on the walls around them were counters and shelves full of various medical instruments, tools, and monitoring devices. Pills labeled neatly sat in pristine white bottles in perfect rows and the room smelled of antiseptic. The medics lifted Ianthe off of her gurney carefully and began pulling up her shirt.

As soon as the doors closed leading into the infirmary, Ianthe stopped crying out in pain, then grabbed one of the nurses heads, and headbutted her. The nurse recoiled, holding her nose and Ianthe leaped from the table, bringing her elbow down hard on top of one of the medics head and the man crumpled without a sound. The Japanese soldiers started raising their rifles, but following Ianthe's example, Feliks grabbed the rifle, throwing the soldier to the floor and then using the rifle like a club, striking the other soldier in temple. He hit the shelf behind him, half fell to the floor and looked at Feliks again in time to see the rifle butt come and hit him in the head, falling limp.

"Alright, nobody move!" said Feliks, panning the rifle around at everybody, including the JGSDF soldier, holding up his hand as if it could ward off a bullet.

"Just calm down," said one of the medics.

"I am calm," answered Feliks. "It's when I start shooting people because they won't do what I tell them to that I stop being calm. Now, get into the corner, all of you," said Feliks gesturing with his rifle. Slowly, both the guards and the medical staff made their way to a corner of the room away from the windows.

"Ianthe, get them to empty out their pocket."

The silver haired mercenary looked at Feliks questioningly.

"Oh right," said Feliks, once again reminded that the mercenary couldn't understand him. "Take...goods from enemy. Take goods."

That the mercenary seemed to understand and in short order had all of them empty out their pockets and practically strip down to their underclothes. It was quick and efficient, the work of a soldier used to taking valuables from their enemy. The conscious SDF soldier tried to make a grab for Ianthe, but quickly found that he was not a match for the mercenary and was soon on the ground with fresh bruises.

"What did I say about doing what I said?" growled Feliks menacingly, aiming the rifle directly at the cluster of SDF personnel.

"Don't shoot, please. We're not resisting anymore okay? We don't have any weapons, we're not a threat to you and we'll do what you say. You don't need to shoot anyone." It was one of the SDF medics, a woman who had spoken, her hand raised up, palms out to show that she did not have any weapons.

"Alright, I believe you, but there is the issue about my clothes. Hey soldier what size are your feet?" asked Feliks to the SDF soldier nursing his jaw.

"What? They're an eleven."

"Good, so are mine, take them off. In fact you look about my size," said Feliks to the SDF soldier. "Strip."

A few moment later, the Japanese were bound and Ianthe was in the process of gagging them when Feliks picked up a rectangular piece of rubber with a screen like that of a mini television. Stickers of cartoon girls with oversized heads and small bodies with animal appendages adorned the outside of the case. He put his thumb on it and was surprised when it lit up and a keypad popped up.

"Hey, that's not even my phone," said one of the female nurses.

"Well consider it reparations to the Soviet Union," said Feliks putting the device into his pocket. "Ianthe how aren't you hurt from the bruising? Oh right. Pain. Ianthe where pain?"

Feliks got a blank look for a moment, but then the mercenary gave a wide smile, pulling the very same berries that she had taken from the interrogation room from her pocket. She mashed a handful of them in her hand and wiped the juices on her arm vigorously for a moment and when she took her hand away, it looked for all the world like there was a giant bruise on the mercenary's arm.

"Huh." Feliks didn't know whether to be impressed or angry at the mercenary. If any number of things would have gone wrong her plan would have failed, but if you didn't try you could never succeed he supposed.

They were on the second floor of the building and they got to the ground by opening the window and shimmying down the drainage pipe. They kept to the shadows, avoiding patrols as best they could. In the dark if nobody looked too close, Feliks would appear to be an SDF soldier. If they saw his face however, it would become quickly apparent that he was not. That was one of the benefits he supposed to having a mono cultural society and military. If he had managed to grab an American uniform, things might be looking better for him. He could easily pass as an American. So long as no one asked him about current events.

It seemed that the Japanese military enjoyed things modular and simple as well when it came to designing their base, which made navigating it much easier. Feliks was going off of a mental map in his head, trying to place where they were and where the barracks was that was holding his men. It was at the edge of the camp on the side towards the civilian village.

It had been raining earlier and the asphalt under their feet was wet so despite their best efforts there was a subdued splash every time they took a step. There was a chill in the air from the rain, the smell of which even seemed to overcome the smells of new construction and vehicle exhaust.

It was late at night, or sometime early morning so they had a few more hours before people started getting up, assuming that they got up at similar times that NATO troops did. Feliks had Ianthe wait behind a few pallets of supplies while he went ahead to make sure that the coast was clear. A large truck rounded the corner farther ahead, illuminating Feliks in its headlights, but rather than duck or run away, Feliks continued walking normally, like he was in no great hurry to get anywhere, just turning his head to the side like he was trying to avoid the light getting into his eyes and away from the truck.

He felt his heart rate pick up, adrenaline start to course through his system, and his knuckles tighten on the sling of his rifle. In what felt like an eternity, the truck passed by them without slowing and Feliks let out a breath that he didn't realize that he was holding in. Most of the time you could be anywhere doing anything and nobody would question it so long as you seemed like you belonged there. Feliks gave a little wave with his hand and with the soft splashing of feet, Ianthe was soon at his side again.

He led them through the base, eventually getting to the barracks that was housing his men. It was like a miniature prison, with the back of the barracks leading into an enclosure fenced in my wire mesh. There were also two guards out front and they didn't look like SDF troops. They looked more like marines. Feliks was trying to think of how to take out the guards without making a lot of noise, when he heard quiet murmuring coming from Ianthe and dull light form between her hands. It disappeared followed by a harsh, but subdued curse.

"What are you doing?" demanded Feliks, and was rewarded with a swat on the head.

"Distract, no distract," said the mercenary vehemently, glaring at the Soviet.

Feliks fell quiet and watched the mercenary start chanting again, very quietly, before the ball in her hands grew to the size of a basket ball, and then launched out like she had thrown it. It flew towards the marines and hit the ground at their feet, releasing a purple light, barely visible that spread out like ripples from a pond and they fell to the crumpled to the ground.

Feliks stared in shock. Was this magic?

"Go," said Ianthe, gesturing Feliks to follow her. They ran to the barracks and opened the door, dragging the bodies of the marines inside.

"What?" asked a sleepy voice from a bunk bed.

"Quiet Vitsin, wake the others."

"What? Uh, yes sir," said the blonde medic getting out of bed somewhat unsteadily and helping to wake the others. Soon all eleven Soviets were out of their beds, rubbing the sleep from their eyes.

"What's going on sir?" asked Davydov, the young marksman.

"We're getting out of here. It turns out that our hosts are less than friendly and they didn't have any intention of releasing us anytime soon. Take these guns, get dressed, and break through the fence behind the barracks. Split up and head for the trees."

"What about you sir?" asked Vitsin.

"I've got to make sure that they don't get the chance to study our equipment. Take Ianthe with you and get out of here. I'll follow behind when I'm finished, but do not and I repeat do not wait for me."

"Yes sir," said Vitsin, him and the other soldiers grabbing what they could carry from the marines before filing out of the barracks.

"Go with them," said Feliks, gesturing for Ianthe to follow the rest of his men. She started to, but stopped when she saw that Feliks wasn't following.

"You...come?"

"No," said Feliks shaking his head. The mercenary frowned at that and crossed her arms defiantly, staring at him. She said something in her own language at him and while Feliks couldn't be sure what exactly was said, he was sure that it wasn't nice.

"Fine, I don't have time to argue. Keep up," said Feliks, gesturing for the mercenary to follow.

He headed through the base towards the motor pool, doing his best to avoid well lit areas and staying out of sight when he could, but walking casually where he couldn't. When they made it to the motor pool, there were several people present, and it took him a moment to realize that it was Itami and his group getting into their vehicles.

He and Ianthe hid behind some fuel drums, waiting for the vehicles to leave. With a slamming of doors and shifting of gears, the trucks, or Humvees as he had heard some people call them, began to drive away. Feliks waited a few minutes to make sure that they were sufficiently far away before he came out from behind the fuel drums, rifle up and searching. He saw another man there, one who looking like a mechanic and he drew his knife.

Ianthe put a hand on his shoulder and shook her head, once again closing her eyes and quietly chanting again, the purplish light once again beginning to surround her. This time however, the man looked back at them.

"Hey, what are you doing?" demanded the man, drawing his sidearm as he approached. It broke Ianthe's concentration however, and the purple light faded.

So instead, Feliks leveled his rifle again, and shot the man twice in the chest. The echo of the rifle rebounding multiple times, shattering the quiet of the night like glass as the man clutched at the wounds, face in disbelief, before he fell to the ground.

"Shit," cursed Feliks, breaking into a run and shooting another mechanic as he came out from under a Humvee he was working on. Moments later, an alarm began to blare. Not the long drawn out wail of an air raid siren, but an angry and loud electronic sound that repeated over and over again.

"Where is it, where is it," asked Feliks to himself running from vehicle bay to vehicle bay, looking for their jeeps. As luck would happen, they came upon them in a garage, seemingly untouched, save for their contents spread out on the floor around them. Feliks flicked on the overhead lights, bathing the jeeps in a pale white light.

He immediately went to the bags containing the excess ammunition and explosives, that were laid out with numbered signs next to them. He grabbed the plastic explosive and detonators, then set all of it on the jeeps on the engine blocks. Arming the explosive quickly and linking it all to a single detonator. If nothing else he had to make sure that nothing of the Union fell into the hands of these people, whatever the cost.

Ianthe alternately watched him work and cast nervous glances outside of the garage, as if half expecting a full platoon of soldiers at any given moment. Arming the last charge, Feliks closed the hood of the jeep and ran out of the garage, Ianthe following close behind.

He could hear voices getting closer, not excited voices of people having seen the intruder, but voices questioning what was going on and if they could see who had started shooting. Feliks hit the detonator.

Like a volcano, the roof blew off of the garage, before the building itself disintegrated, secondary explosions cooking off even as the heat washed over them. The wail of the siren, the shouting voices, everything was drowned out by the blast and Feliks opened his mouth to avoid his eardrums bursting, grabbing Ianthe's jaw roughly so that her mouth did the same. Feliks shielded Ianthe for the heat, her eyes wide at the destruction that had so completely obliterated the entire garage. Flames stretching high as fuel reserves exploded, sending fireballs high into the air.

Feliks had used all ten pounds of explosive that they had been given, enough to take down an apartment building if used correctly, but used entirely on the jeeps made it enough to disintegrate them.

"Alright move," said Feliks, lifting Ianthe up. But she just stood still, as if transfixed by the flames. Feliks pulled at her, but it was like she was stupefied. Following her gaze, he saw that it wasn't the flames that had her so enraptured. It was the disturbing little girl.

She was standing on top of a garage, partially collapsed from the blast and on fire. She had her giant axe-halberd over her shoulder and was silhouetted against the flames. Appearing for all the world like a grim reaper of souls. A laugh emitting from her echoing all around them it seemed. Three things happened simultaneously after that. Feliks brought his rifle up and shot at her, Ianthe brought her fingers to her and whistled loud and clear, and the girl leaped high in to the air.

"Shit," cursed Feliks firing several times at the girl, rifle kicking into his shoulder, cordite filling his nose as she flipped through the air, unable to tell if he got a hit or not; but one thing he was sure of was that whatever she was, it wasn't human.

The girl hit the ground far harder than her weight should have allowed, throwing out a shockwave of water droplets from the asphalt that turned into a fine mist around her. The ground under her feet cracking. Feliks switched to full automatic and fired a burst at the girl, only to see the majority of them deflect off of the massive weapon as the girl spun it around in her hand with tortured pings of ricochets. Ianthe whistled again. Louder this time.

The girl charged at them, moving as fast as a jeep and Feliks took a knee, firing one quick burst at the chest, then another at the legs, so close together that it seemed as if he hand never stopped firing. The rounds aimed at the girls chest were deflected, but the ones at her legs hit. Feliks was sure of it, because he saw the spray of blood and the girl stumble, but that was all. She kept coming like she had never even been hurt.

Feliks swapped magazines, but that had to dive into a roll to avoid the girl and her halberd. Coming up from his crouch, Feliks saw that the girl was already turned towards him, weapon raised high. He held down the trigger, and watched the bullets stitch a bloody trail up her body, brass pinging off of the ground. But then the halberd came down and hit him full in the chest, ripping open his body armor and taking with it a spray of blood as Feliks was launched backwards. Pain like white hot fire erupting across his chest as he tumbled end over end, before coming to a stop. The girl giggling softly to herself as his world began to darken.

Ianthe knew that she couldn't beat the apostle, but nevertheless, she put herself in between Volkin, praying that he was still alive and Rory Mercury.

"Are you so eager to die that you'd try to fight me again? This time without any weapons or armor?" asked Rory, putting her massive halberd over her shoulder.

"I can not let you kill this man," said Ianthe, pulling out a knife she had taken from one of the green soldiers.

"Oh little Messalonian girl, did you forget what I told you about playing with sharp things?" asked Rory, her purple lips drawing into a Cheshire grin. She took a step forwards and Ianthe took backwards, the mercenary's face pale with fear.

"Well at least you know to be afraid this time," said Rory walking forwards without any sense of urgency. "Do you want to die first so that you can say that you died defending your master?"

By way of answer, Ianthe brought her fingers to her lips again and let out a long, shrill whistle that seemed to echo throughout the whole hill and base. This time though, a roar answered her back.

Rory jumped back as a jet of fire engulfed where she had just been standing and a dragon, not a wyvern liked the Empire used, clad in heavy steel battle armor landed heavily on thickly muscled legs, shaking the buildings around them and rattling the glass in their sills. Threatening to break them as the dragon raised its armored head and let out a roar, primal, powerful, and challenging, flame licking at the edges of its mouth. It fixed its red eyes on the Apostle and growled threateningly at Rory, taking a step forwards. Its ivory white claws stronger than steel sinking into the asphalt as it tensed its muscles like a cat ready to pounce. Its steel armored tail swishing back and forth in cruel intent.

"Oh my, A Messalonain Royal Blue Fire Dragon. How did you ever manage to get a hold of something like that?" asked Rory, her smile never wavering, even as the dragon hissed, a subtle gesture for it that still felt like a physical assault against the diaphragm.

"He chose me," said Ianthe, slinging the unconscious lieutenant over her shoulder.

"Did he now? I wonder why," mused Rory, walking in a slow circle around them, Maximus turning with earth shaking steps to face her. "Well trained too," complimented Rory, a moment before she rushed towards them.

Maximus unleashed a torrent of searing blue flames in a concentrated stream, turning the water on the ground to steam, but Rory had leaped above the jet of flame, going high into the air. Intending to bring her halberd down atop the dragon's head.

Maximus lashed out with his tail, the metal armored appendage ending in a wicked metal spike. It met Rory's attack with a sound like two cars crashing together with pieces of metal armor breaking off and flying away from the exchange, Rory herself thrown back by the force, skidding to a stop, jumping back further as Maximus pounced, powerful jaws capable of snapping a horse in half with little effort snapping closed in a hideous clash of teeth where the apostle had just been, red eyes glaring balefully at the Apostle as she jumped out of the way. A rage that humans could never hope to reach boiling just below those red eyes. Roaring, again, Maximus unleashed another jet of brilliant blue flame, setting everything on either side of the road alight and bathing the area in steam.

"Maximus heel!" shouted Ianthe running to catch up with the dragon. Obediently, the dragon settled on its haunches, looking for the Apostle with eyes many times superior to that of an eagle. Ianthe lashed Feliks to the saddle, but a whistling made her look up in time to see Rory mere feet from them.

With the rush of an avalanche Maximus's tail whipped through the air, and batted the apostle away, meeting the halberd the master crafted armor decades old, lost the struggle, breaking away and the halberd finding dragon blood before being withdrawn. Maxiums roared in pain and rage, loosing a gout of hot blue flames after the Apostle, who jumped and leaped out of the way giggling all the while. Maximus took a thundering step, growling towards the Apostle, intending to chase after her.

"Maximus, rise!" commanded Ianthe. Obediently, though grudgingly the dragon let out his wings the size of sails and with a mighty snap, they were in the air and rising quickly. Laughter following them.

"Running away little Messalonian _girl?_ Don't worry little Messalonian _girl_ , we'll finish this another time," called out the Apostle after them, waving like she was bidding a friend farewell.

AN: Well I think that was alright, not my favorite chapter, but it's more or less what I wanted to get done. In case any one is wondering this is just before they go to Italica. Any questions about anything leave a review and I'll get back to you, also you'll see a really...interesting character shall we say next chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Quick thing before I begin, I've started reading the Manga, and Rory is infinitely more terrifying in that than she is in the anime. Also she kills more people and much more quickly than in the anime, which makes me believe that I underestimated her fighting capabilities. Also I found I liked the art style in the manga better. Pina actually looked like a woman rather than a 15 year old and in general I found that things looked better and the clothing made more sense. I found that Pina actually looked kinda beautiful honestly, but also a lot smarter diplomatically. She threatened to destroy that lord's kingdom in the beginning if he didn't give more information, which she didn't in the anime. That makes me think that she has more backbone and will change how I write her.

"I can't believe you made it back in one piece sir. Well, not quite in one piece, but our little darling here put you back together again," said Boris ruffling Luella's hair who was blushing in embarrassment.

"W-well I said that I could use magic, just that no one really believed me," said Luella, the elf's face continuing to turn a deeper shade of crimson. "I-I mean we can use it anytime we want, it's just that, um, well. We, um we," stuttered Luella, stumbling over her own tongue as she received praise her modest nature never had to deal with before.

"It's sacred a-and, um, stuff," finished Luella rather lamely, looking like if she turned any redder she would pop.

"You're just a doll darling," preened Boris, drawing Luella into a hug which the elf yelped in surprise at, but didn't offer any resistance to.

When Ianthe had brought Feliks back to the rest of the patrol column, his chest had been a bloody ruin, barely alive and soon to be on deaths door. Vitsin had done his best to help, but the young medic was being asked to do something impossible without a full surgical team and even with that it would have been doubtful for Volkin to survive.

Then Luella, the ever cheerful, but timid elf had come forward and began to sing, kneeling over the dying man. What followed had shocked every man present allowing a deafening hush to fall over the clearing save for the high clear voice of the elf. Golden light had filled the clearing where they had parked the BTRs and the grievous wound on the Lieutenant's chest had closed. Broken bones mending, popping back into place as flesh began knitting back together. When the last clear note of Luella's voice had faded and the last glimmer of light had dimmed out of existence, it was as if it had never happened.

Nobody knew how to deal with the realization that magic was real, but despite its use, the fact that it was the small and ever helpful elf that could use it assuaged many fears about it. Namely that it would be used to do bad things against them. Luella didn't even eat meat and had even cried when Ianthe had caught a rabbit one night to cook her own food. As such, nobody was too concerned about the small elf using her literal magical powers against them. Despite their lack of concern that she would harm them, the small elf was treated with more deference now.

Before it had been understood that she wasn't human, but aside from the minor physical differences, the separation had never truly been fully acknowledged. The revelation of her powers had cemented the fact that she wasn't human. Perhaps even beyond human ken. Feliks himself should have been more astounded, but at this point Zeus could literally descend from the heavens and it would not surprise him in the slightest.

On a sadder note however, they had lost two of Dima's men who had been assigned to driving the now destroyed jeeps. Having completed their mission to investigate Alnus Hill however, they were making a beeline back towards camp Zhukov. One person riding in the BTR with them was looking immensely pleased with herself however, the mercenary Ianthe. An almost perpetual grin on her face. She spoke in an unhurried way in her own language, inspecting her fingers. Luella's ears perked up immediately, listening to what the mercenary was saying.

"Ianthe says that you owe her more money, because you violated the terms of the contract," said Luella.

"What?" asked Feliks, surprised.

"Yes. She says that she was only hired to scout and not to fight. She also says that her equipment was damaged or destroyed, including a mythril longsword. Oh, and a mythril dagger."

"Is she serious?"

Luella spoke quickly to the mercenary, who uncharacteristically stayed calm, and in fact almost seemed like a pleased cat getting ready to purr.

"She says that she is very serious and is quite frankly offended by your lack of gratitude. She said that she not only rescued you and your men, suffering significant losses of equipment, but also injury to herself and to Maximus. She says that having to go so far beyond the terms of the contract should merit a proportionally appropriate reward."

"How much does she think is proportionate?"

"Ianthe says that she wants two gold pieces."

"Okay, that's fine," said Feliks, his apparent quick acceptance of the demand completely taking the mercenary off guard who said something quickly to Luella again.

"She also says that she wants you to pay the costs for new equipment for both herself and her mount. The full costs, not just the percentage promised."

"Sure, tell her to send me the bill," said Feliks laying back to get some sleep.

"She says that she want her equipment to be of higher quality that what she previously had," said Luella, translating the ever more animated voice of the mercenary, taking on the tone of an excited child being told they can have whatever they want.

"Tell her she can get whatever she needs," said Feliks. Not needing to have his eyes open to see the mixture of disbelief and outright glee on Ianthe's face. So far as he was concerned she could have whatever she wanted. They had been given an entire case full of gold before they had left Zhukov and after hitting that tax caravan had enough silver to melt down into several life sized statues of someone. They couldn't use it and so far as Feliks was concerned Ianthe could have all of it if she wanted to. Well, maybe not all of it. Feliks still wanted her to _work_ for her money. He smiled at the thought. It had been well worth the money to hire the mercenary a stroke of good fortune in fact to stumble across her.

He wasn't overly concerned about being found, the drivers were going in shifts and they were making a direct beeline back to Zhukov. They weren't stopping for anything or anyone so whereas before it had taken them nearly ten days of traveling to reach Alnus, it would take only a fraction of that to make it back to Mt. Rubicon.

Feliks had considered doing a more stealthy withdrawal, but with the JSDF and American technology obviously ahead of theirs, save in fuel economy, speed was their best bet now and the column wouldn't stop rolling until they got to Zhukov.

Xxx

 _5 days later, Alnus Hill_

"The final reports are two dead JGSDF soldiers, with three US marines and four more SDF soldiers in critical condition with severe burns. The soldiers calling themselves the Red Army of the Soviet Union have also escaped. Two were killed three miles to the south when they resisted recapture though sir."

Lieutenant General Hazama rested his head on his hands as he took everything in. Their being here in the Special Region was tenuous at best, not so much from military threat, but from political pressure back in Japan. The Americans were here with them, about three thousand all told, bringing with them heavy armor and weapons the likes of which that Japan had been reluctant to deploy, instead deploying the older Type-74s. In fact everything they had was last generation weaponry, from their tanks to their cobra and Huey helicopters. Their whole deployment spoke of trying to be as financially insignificant as possible. In fact the only reason they had gotten as much as they had was because of the massacre in Ginza and the public demand for them to be here. However, there was also a faction within Japan that merely wanted them to seal off the gate, bury it under tonnes of dirt on both sides, weld heavy slabs of steel over it, fill it with concrete, and forget about it. Sending bodies in bags back to Japan wouldn't increase the popularity of their mission in the slightest.

"This is a real mess," said Hazama, looking out his window, which had a view of most of Alnus hill. His office was, clean, spartan, and orderly. The office of a man who was committed to his work the only way a career soldier can be. He was older, but despite the odd natural disaster relief coordination work, he had never had to command his men outside of training. As such he was not unduly aged as some of his colleagues in foreign military forces had been. His hair for the most part was still dark and the lines on his face were the irrevocable march of age rather than a recent addition from stress. His new command seemed determined to correct that though.

"Two dead, seven injured, one of which may never walk again, and a dragon attack right in the middle of our camp. On top of all of that, we've received reports about this Rory Mercury that's taken to traveling with Lieutenant Itami Youji. Were the reports perhaps...exaggerated?" asked Hazama, like a man hoping to find a shred of good news in a field of bad.

"No sir. The reports have been corroborated by several eye witness accounts and in the case of the dragon attack, video footage. When she fought the mercenary in the village, she was stabbed through completely by a longsword, as well as a knife in her throat. Despite this, she threw her assailant, who was armored through two walls and showed no visible wounds afterward. Her strength is...unnatural sir."

"She said she was an...Apostle of Emroy in her refugee application correct?" asked Hazama, sifting through reports on his desk. "The god of war, death and murder? Sometimes called the god of darkness?"

"Yes sir. She said that her...weapon was a symbol of religious office as well as a relic and as such we allowed her to keep it since she is staying in the Alnus living community. We believed that she was just a child trying to cope with loss, so we never thought too much about it."

"That may have been a mistake, but I don't know what can be done about it," said Hazama wearily. "The report pertaining to the fire dragon attacking the refugees. It said that she helped our soldiers in defeating it, however, a part was overlooked over in the report; because of the name of the officer who made it. At the time his immediate superior dismissed it as him trying to get a rise out of him. However, with recent events brought to light, it would seem that he was not being as glib as was thought. Itami had said that Rory, had used her halberd-like weapon like to help fight the dragon, cracking the ground like a 155 had hit it. Obviously because it was..."

"Itami, sir," said Yangida knowingly.

"Yes. Because it was Lieutenant Itami who made the report, we didn't take it at face value. With recent events however, we must now believe all accounts to be true. Tell me Yangida, do you think that Itami can keep this Rory Mercury and the magic casters with him in check?"

"I believe so sir. Itami may be a slacker and an otaku, but he has shown to have a knack for inspiring loyalty in others. I do believe that he can continue to do so, though I would be lying if I said that I wasn't concerned."

"Yes. For the time being they'll be going to the Diet to explain what happened with the dragon attack when they get back from Italica. We've been getting pressure from our American allies as well for a more detailed report for what happened."

"Namely the security footage?" asked Yangida.

Hazama gave a nod.

"The American's are funding a great deal of this operation, our costs and theirs. Honestly though, I'm a little worried what will happen when it becomes general knowledge that we aren't just facing medieval armies here. Magic that can incapacitate soldiers immediately. A self proclaimed demigoddess that is nearly a thousand years old, with inhuman strength, seemingly invulnerable. Those things will change the shape of our mission immensely. Then there's the matter of the Soviet Soldiers we encountered."

"That one was taken out of our hands sir," said Yangida. "By both American military intelligence and our own."

"I realize that, but they mishandled that. The conversation I had with the young officer was frank and to the point, but more than that he was willing to arrange a meeting with his superiors and us. He didn't seem like a die hard political officer or have an aversion to having dealings with countries that weren't communist. It was an opportunity that we may have soured on both sides now. With dead soldiers on both sides, friendly relations will be harder to achieve. Especially since the last things he said to the intelligence officers before he refused to answer any more questions was that he considered himself a prisoner of war. If he reports back that we are hostile, it may make conflict inevitable which I fear will cause us to withdraw from the Special Region."

"Do you think that these Soviets would initiate hostilities sir?"

"I don't know. If they're anything like the Soviet Union from out history, they may prove to be expansionist and aggressive, eager to spread communism. So far removed from their own territory, they may not fear nuclear reprisal or using nuclear weapons themselves. The Soviet Nuclear doctrine called for more tactical nuclear weapons than NATO's did, and if their doctrine is the same then they may have several tactical nukes with them here in the Special Region right now. However, the Soviets, I don't believe would jump into a war when they didn't know why they were fighting it. They will be cautious. They won't want to jeopardize their mission here with unnecessary fighting. However, I don't know how long they will be cautious for."

"Itami did say that they traveled several hundred nautical miles sir. If that is the case it will be at least a few days before they deliver their report. Itami said that the Soviet's didn't have any tents with them in the jeeps or even bedrolls which led him to say in his report that the heavier vehicles of the patrol group were most likely hidden. If that is true and their officer is wounded it will take them some time to return."

"We haven't detected any long range radio communication either, which means that they're maintaining radio silence. It'll buy us some time to salvage this situation anyways," said Hazama.

"Sir if I may make a suggestion?"

"What is it Yangida?"

"Lieutenant Itami said that he and the Soviet Officer got along well, and Itami has shown to be able to keep a level head when faced with adversity, and an adaptability when faced with unforeseen situations. He is a known quantity to the Soviet Officer. May I recommend...delaying the Diet summons and sending Itami to the Soviet's immediately when he get back from Italica? The diplomat Sugawara from foreign affairs is in camp currently isn't he? He was stationed in the Russian Federation for a few years and can act as an interpreter if necessary."

Despite himself, Hazama's jaw would have hit the floor if he were in an anime and it took him a moment to realize that the lieutenant was serious.

"L-Lieutenant Yangida, I don't have the authority to say no to the Diet!"

"Don't tell them no, tell them they have to wait," said Yangida.

"I can't do that either!"

"I speak with all honesty when I say that Itami is probably our best bet and like you said General, we have to try and salvage this situation as best we can. Itami also has a knack for sniffing out dangerous situations and avoiding them. Plus, if their history is anything like ours, I don't think they'd take too kindly to seeing Americans on their doorstep."

Despite the fact that it could mean the end of his career, even if it succeeded, Hazama knew that his aide was correct. Even in lieu of the fact that Yangida was a self-admitted 'patriot' who advocated a policy of isolationism and independence from the outside world; no doubt privately seeing the Special Region as a way to make Imperial Japan a reality again, it didn't make his observations any less correct. Even if his plan completely excluded the Americans from it, basically outright saying so.

"Itami and the 3rd recon group are almost back at Alnus, correct?" asked Hazama.

"That is correct sir."

"Meet him as soon as he arrives. We've got a rough idea where the Soviet's are from the refugee's rumors. Add a supply truck to his recon team and tell him immediately after they get fresh supplies and a hot meal, they'll be heading out. Tell him to leave that Rory Mercury behind too. I don't want her causing an incident. Well, a _further_ incident."

"What do you want me to tell Brigadier General Mitchel?"

"As of right now, nothing. We'll let Itami take Sugawara in and hopefully defuse the situation before it escalates anymore than it already has. The Soviet Union hasn't existed for thirty years, but there is still a cultural hate for it. In Japan, but especially in the United States. Our government right now is the most nationalist we've had in the last thirty years and is looking for a way to work around our constitution to revive something of Imperial Japan. Albeit without spending a lot of money. The United States on the other hand is under a republican presidency that's looking for a victory they can give to their public after decades of frustration fighting insurgents. Add to this the resources at stake in the special region, the public support after the massacre in Ginza and now several casualties inflicted by a foreign power and we're looking at a flashpoint scenario."

"What do you want me to tell the General Mitchel when he does find out?"

"Nothing. I'll talk to him. You're dismissed Yangida."

"General, there is one more thing of note.".

"What's that?"

"The jeeps that the Soviets were using were aesthetically identical to the ones from our Soviet Union. However, the mechanics taking them apart said that the engines were nothing like they'd seen before. Not more powerful than what we have now, but the way they were set up they said was ingenious. That potentially they could be far more efficient than what we use."

"What about the rest of their equipment?"

"Soviet equipment roughly from late sixties to sometime in the seventies.

Xxx

"Forgive my brain fog General, the past week has been rather intensive," said a man in a major's uniform, yawning expansively.

"That is alright, please continue Major Pajari. You have come highly recommended by Field Marshal Konev so I am expecting good news."

"General if it would be alright, could you just refer to me as doctor? I prefer that to the rank given to me by the military."

"Very well Dr. Pajari, what have you learned from the warrior bunny?"

Doctor Pajari's eyes lit up, the way a mans eyes do when about to discuss a subject of great excitement for him, leaning forwards in his chair, fatigue seemingly forgotten. Like the dark bags underneath his eyes were no more than a trick of the light.

Pajari wasn't overly old, mid thirties, but handsome. Having the look of a youthful college professor, with an open and inviting face and giving off the air of quiet academic scholarship to those that spoke to him. Often quoting Shakespeare, and Greek Philosophers, Pajari was a man knowledgeable about many subjects and delved into new ones regularly. He appeared to be a man more at ease in the halls of education, debating the turning points of history and new advances in technology in quiet, scholarly tones in a simple suit, rather than in a military uniform. His dark brown hair was groomed with meticulous detail, his eyes sparkling like they were barely holding back their mirth, a perpetual kind grin on his face. In all, he reminded Konev of one of his professors that the girls in his class had swooned over.

"A great deal General, first and foremost though I would wish for you to extend my gratitude to our elfin allies. Their healing magic was a quite unexpected boon. I thought I was going to be working within a very limited time frame, instead I was given all the time I needed. More than needed in fact and the subjects good health certainly expedited the process. She revealed the name of the one who hired her and her sisters. In the literal sense, not a comradely one I might add. An Imperial officer by the name of Octavian, a member of their mounted legionnaire unit. They needed money and he offered them each three gold pieces for the job."

"I see, what did she reveal about this Octavian? Is he a high ranking officer?"

"Hardly sir, he's a company grade officer, a captain or centurion as some have called them. From what I was able to learn from Felicia-"

"I'm sorry, Felicia?"

"Oh, that's right my apologies General. The warrior bunny's name is Felicia, her sisters were Cyan and Pyuule. Lovely names actually, quite endearing in the way they relied on each other so much growing up and how they stayed together to survive after the Empire conquered their homeland."

"I will be frank Doctor, it concerns me that you have gotten onto a first name basis with the demi-human and your concern for her personal life. Do you believe that your feelings may have skewed the results of your findings?" asked Alexandrov.

Pajari smiled, seemingly unable to stop himself before he answered.

"General, I never let feelings get in the way of my work. I was completely thorough in my interrogation."

"Good. You were saying Doctor?"

"Oh yes. It appears that our men, possibly one of our recon teams wiped out his patrol group and he barely survived his wounds. He still seemed to be recovering, being pale and weak when he hired the warrior bunny sisters. Using a cane to walk even. Felicia said that they were hired while passing through the village of Blenheim to kill the leader of the other world forces, which they took to mean us. They infiltrated the column of escaped slaves to get into camp, then acted, not as prostitutes, but something similar. I wasn't able to entirely able to translate the word."

"The elves couldn't tell you what it meant?"

"No General, I presume that they could, but I prefer to work alone. I find that others being present when I work distracts both me and the subject, hindering the process. Felicia explained that the word meant something along the lines of a comforter and a performer. Something similar to a Japanese Geisha woman. They managed to get solicited by a member of your staff, thus gaining entry to the HQ. The man was killed as you are well aware, his body put into a utility closet and the rest I'm sure you're quite familiar with."

"I am. Where is this Octavian now?"

"Felicia was not sure. They were supposed to meet in Blenheim four days ago, but now she doesn't know where he might be. Her best guess in the region's fort. Some two thousand men present on a permanent basis to keep order since this is the far reaches of the Empire. The inference makes sense. Going to a command and control hub to communicate with your superior when presented with an unknown situation is a common practice. Especially with a strictly disciplined and hierarchical force like the Empire's legions. "

"It does make sense, but she also has reason to hate us and no reason to help. Are you sure that she wasn't withholding information from you Doctor?"

"I was most thorough General."

"I see. Well now that we know who tried to have me killed and where he is, there is only the matter of returning the favor. Tell me, what is the condition of the warrior bunny?"

"Quite well and in good health General, I assure you," said Dr. Pajari, seemingly happy at subject being brought up.

"I see. Have her transferred to the military police. She will be held until such a time we have a military trial to sentence her."

"There is no need to throw her in a cell General, she is quite well behaved."

"What?"

"Felicia, you can come in now," said Pajari, to the closed door. The door opened, and a warrior bunny with red hair and the distinctive ears of her race walked in, eyes downcast, flanked on either side by spetsnaz guards, but unbound and unrestrained, wearing a simple gown like those worn in a hospital, but more substantial.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded Alexandrov, hand going to his pistol holster.

"I assure you that won't be necessary General," said Dr. Pajari in a placating manner, standing up and walking over to the warrior bunny. "I had assumed that you would like to have closure about the incident. Felicia, don't you have something that you want to say to the General?"

"Yes," said Felicia in Russian, her voice monotonous and devoid of emotion. She raised her head and Alexandrov saw honey golden eyes, blank though, like nobody was looking out from behind them. Like they were dolls eyes, or the eyes of somebody already dead.

"I am sorry for trying to harm you General, and I grieve the loss of your man. I apologize for both me and my sisters." It sounded rehearsed, memorized with no real thought to the meaning behind the sounds coming from her mouth.

"I taught her some Russian you see, not a lot, but she already knew a substantial amount from being in the camp. Remarkable how intelligent she is," commented Dr. Pajari, stroking the warrior bunny's hair. In that moment, the demi-human's eyes came alive again, as if someone had turned on a light behind them. They did not show deceit though, no clever ploy to get close to Alexandrov again, no great ruse to try to finish the job. No, it was nothing devious at all. It was fear.

It was absolute stark terror that filled those eyes, a sharp intake of breath, and the tiniest of tremors running through her entire body that was rigid as a mannequin as Dr. Pajari ran his hand through her crimson tresses. Every muscle tense, as if expecting the lash. Every breath taken hushed, like someone afraid of being found. Every movement stilled, as if fearful of doing something wrong.

"Do you feel better that you've apologized now Felicia?" asked Pajari, in a kindly way, like one a friend might use on another after finishing a hard project, or handing in an important report. Not a trace of malice or veiled threat, just a seeming genuine interest.

"Yes Doctor." The response was immediate, conditioned and breathless. Hardly more than a whisper, the air barely brushing past her lips as if escaping the body of a corpse. Hushed and hard to hear.

"Pardon? I didn't quite hear you Felicia. Could you speak up a little?" The request was modest, polite even, but the way it was asked appeared to invoke a fresh tremor in Felicia, making her lips quiver before she pressed them together tightly, turning them white before speaking again.

"My apologies Doctor, I feel great now that I have apologized, like a weight has been lifted Doctor."

"Good? Would you like to take a seat?"

"Yes Doctor," said the warrior bunny Felicia quickly, sitting in the proffered chair, adopting immediately a posture that had obviously been taught, sitting straight and uniform, feet together.

"As you can see General, I have been quite thorough in my work. I don't just go for the information I want, I learn absolutely everything about my subject. I have to see if they'll lie to me about other things first, mundane things. Things they don't understand why I'm asking, but I ask them all the same. I personally like to think of it like a game. A puzzle if you will. I have the keys to a few chests that will open more chests, but I must be careful in what order I open them in. Some are easy to open, for example, Felicia, what did you eat this morning?"

"I had toast and jam Doctor."

"See? Simple, mundane and asking that of anyone in the right way I could get them to answer merely by asking. However, there are other secrets, other chests that need opened with different keys. These chests contain their deepest darkest personal secrets. Or ones that they've sworn never to tell to anyone, even under duress. Others, some would rather die that reveal and sometimes they reveal a chest, or you open it and it has a false bottom. For example. Felicia, do you like men or women?"

"Men, Doctor."

"Have you ever thought about sleeping with a woman? Even in passing?"

"Yes Doctor."

"Ever thought of any of your sisters like that Felicia?"

"In passing Doctor."

"See? Once they tell me things they've never told anyone before at the merest prodding, I no longer have to fear being lied to. Simple in theory, but infinitely harder in practice and much harder when you think that you're at that stage, but are in fact being deceived. I believe the American's have a very good saying for it. Playing possum. I did find something amazing about the warrior bunnies though General," said Dr. Pajari, holding up Felicia's arm, the hand at the end trembling ever so slightly.

"Felicia, no fidgeting," said Pajari, a more commanding tone coming into his voice. The warrior bunny's hand immediately became still, but all blood drained from her face.

"Like I was saying General, the amazing thing is that Warrior bunny's have a two tier muscle system. They have the muscles that they use for everyday use, but they can utilize the second set for tremendous bursts of strength and endurance. Incredibly compact and very slow to atrophy, even with little to no use. Though using these muscles beyond minute bursts will tire them considerably and require a much greater amount of calories that they normally would need. Also they will need a prolonged period of rest as it puts a strain on their primary muscles. Much like how humans only use a true fraction of their strength to prevent injury, a safeguard by our own brain. Warrior bunnies possess the unique ability to override their own safeguards at will, but not merely override them, push them into superhuman abilities. Fascinating, isn't it General?" asked Dr. Pajari, poking and prodding the muscles, shifting them ever so slightly to show the different groups. Revealing abnormalities that only further proved the girl was not human.

"Yes, fascinating," parroted Alexandrov, too shocked to say anything else. He hated the warrior bunnies for killing Vlad, would prefer nothing better than to put them up against a wall and have them shot. But this, this seemed...wrong. This Dr. Pajari had broken down a member of a race notoriously strong in both body and mind into this...shadow in just seven days.

It wasn't hot anger, wild and uncontrollable that while natural though sometimes despicable was understandable. This was clinical. Precise and measured in both its approach and goal, no malice in the action, only a desire for results. It was...unsettling to see a man so at ease with what must have been truly horrifying actions. Dr. Pajari never seemed to notice Alexandrov's reservations or revulsion though.

"Autopsies from the two deceased also confirmed stories of the warrior bunnies and their fertility. When they ovulate they release multiple eggs, allowing for muliple chances of conception. The truly amazing part is that they continuously create new eggs in the ovaries. In fac-"

"Doctor I do believe that all of this will be included in your report?"

"Of course General, that and much more. On a personal note I do hope you will be lenient on Felicia. She and her sisters were hungry and needed the money. They can't get regular work in most places on account of being demi-human you see."

"I will take that into consideration," said Alexandrov.

"Thank you General. Come along Felicia, we have more work to do," said Pajari rising.

"Yes Doctor," said the warrior bunny obediently, following _exactly_ three steps behind the Doctor, even carrying his briefcase for him as they left, head bowed subserviently. Alexandrov watched them leave and the girl shut the girl behind them with a soft click.

"Orlov."

"Yes Sir?"

"Find out who that man is and where exactly he came from."

"Yes sir."

xxx

"Why am I always the one that gets stuck doing all the dangerous stuff?" said Itami glumly to no one in particular. He just gets back from Italica where he'd been basically kidnapped, beaten, given lavish treats and treatment by cute maids, then beaten again. After which he'd been apologized to for, profusely by the Imperial Princess who had even now somehow managed to secure her own place in the mission to where the Soviets _should_ be.

How she had managed that and why he of all people was going, Itami would never know. He'd joined the army because it had offered a stable job with a steady paycheck with no real actual threat of having to go to war or do anything really dangerous outside of disaster relief if Japan was hit by an earthquake.

Itami didn't live for his job like most people in Japan did, more just seeing it as a means to an end, his hobby being that end. In between his earning his paycheck and getting time off, Itami had always just kept his head down and tried to be the gray man. Never standing out, never drawing attention, and never trying to get more responsibility than he already had.

His quiet life had been not so quietly derailed after Ginza though. He had just been doing what he'd naturally felt was right and knowing a little more than the average guy about what to do in a crisis had helped. Unfortunately that had him labeled as a hero and shipped off to someplace where internet was spotty, daily showers weren't guaranteed, terrible monsters were trying to kill him, and he had to try to be inspirational. All of those were things that detracted from his hobbies and actually made him have to put serious effort into his work. On the plus side he was basically living in one of his doujins, so it was kind of awesome.

"Hey Kurata, why do you think we always get picked for everything? There's other recon teams that they could send."

"Do you think Persia would like living in Japan? It would be different, but I'm sure she'd like it. I mean I wouldn't mind living anywhere so long as it was with her, but I would prefer Japan."

Itami sighed wearily, leaning back into his seat. Kurata had one thing and one thing only on his brain most of the time before all of this and that had been catgirls. It had been his not so secret fetish and he was reacting like all young men would when an impossible fantasy is not only made real, but actually achievable. That is with single minded determination and joy not thought possible of grown men.

"Do you think I should start saying nyaa? Persia says it a lot, but maybe that's just a cultural thing nyaa? Nyaa. Nyaa! Nyaa, nyaa, nyaa," repeated Kurata like he was trying to mimic the way Persia said it exactly.

"She might think that you're mocking her," said Itami. A look like horror came across Kurata's face.

"No! I would never mock her! Not Persia." Kurata got a dreamy and faraway look in his eyes, no doubt imagining a future filled with his catgirl of choice. "Nyaa," said Kurata, probably not even realizing himself that he'd said it.

"Watch the road baka!" cried out Itami in alarm.

"What? SHIT!" shouted Kurata, slamming on the brakes, the type 73 skidding as it came to a stop. A loud _thunk_ sounding just before it stopped. Kurata had him hands up by his face in anxiety.

"Oh kami, did I hit someone?" moaned Kurata, the young man deeply troubled by the fact.

Itami jumped out of the truck, and ran around to the front, seeing a girl, a siren to be specific several feet in front of the vehicle and prone. The green feathered girl not moving, a handful of belongings scattered about the road in front of her.

"I-I didn't see her. Oh kami," said Kurata moving next to the girl. "Is she dead?"

"I don't know," said Itamit going up next to the immobile girl. When she didn't move for a few moments he picked up a nearby stick and prodded her with it. "She might be," conceded Itami, making Kurata wail in dismay.

"Hey Itami, what's going on-oh kami, did you hit somebody?" asked Shino, the short spitfire making their way next to them. Is she dead?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean I poked her with a stick, but-"

"You poked her with a goddamned stick!?" exploded Shino.

"...Yes."

"Baka, I swear to kami," she muttered. "Well at least help her up," demanded Shino, reaching down to help the siren up.

"Wait, her neck might be injured," said Kurokawa, their long haired and tall combat medic running up kit in hand. She knelt down next to the siren and began feeling around her neck, then her hands traveling down the rest of her.

"Do you think she's alright?" asked Kurata watching the proceedings anxiously.

"She'd be better if you hadn't tried to make her roadkill."

"Shino!" said Itami curtly, unusually forceful for the normally laid back man. The one word silencing the sergeant first class.

"Nothing feels broken, but I wasn't trained for sirens."

"Should we take her with us?" asked Kurata.

"Well," began Itami.

"Owwwwww," came the low groan from the siren at their feet, shifting to look up at the people standing above them. She let a terrified yelp after blinking several times to clear her vision.

"Green People!" squeaked the siren, rising to her knees, but seeing herself surrounded let out a fearful moan, more like a bird cooing. Looking quickly between all of the SDF soldiers before shrinking in on herself like she wanted to disappear. Looking between them in a birdlike fashion with almost jerky movements of her head, a whimpering coo coming involuntarily from her throat.

"Are you alright?" asked Itami.

"I-I'm well. I swear I didn't mean to march with the Kingdom of Elbe on Alnus, not if I'd known it was going to be against you! I didn't even fight I swear! I'm no good in a fight even! Please don't put my head on a pike," pleaded the siren, grabbing hold of Itami's leg with an iron grip. "FORGIVE ME!"

"Let go!" said Itami trying to pull away, but the siren had wrapped both arms around his leg and was crying rather loudly.

"I don't want my head on a pike!" bawled the siren. "Have mercy my lord!"

"Itami, what did you say to her?" demanded Shino.

"Nothing, I just asked if she was okay!" defended Itami, falling over as the siren wrapped every appendage she had around his leg, tripping him.

"Don't let her move around, she might be hurt," said Kurokawa.

"I can't stop her!" said Itami exasperated, trying to crawl back to the truck, the crying siren latched firmly onto his leg, getting dragged along with him every time Itami crawled forwards another foot.

I don't want to have my head on a pike!" bawled the siren again.

"I'm not going to put your head of a pike," said Itami, trying to pry the girl of his leg but failing.

"I don't wanna be a slave! I'd make a terrible slave! Ask anyone, I'm terrible at chores and manual labor! I get tired just getting water from a well. I'm always molting and I'm inherently lazy!"

"You're not going to be a damned slave!"

"I DON'T WANT TO BE A CONCUBINE!" shrieked the siren, bawling louder than ever before, burying her face in Itami's leg.

"What are you saying to her Itami?" demanded Shino in a tone that made it apparent she thought he was saying terrible things to the girl.

"Nothing, she just won't let go of me!" said Itami, ignoring Kurokawa's advice and pushing on the siren's face, but even that failed to dislodge the girl, in fact only intensifying the bawling.

"Forgive me!"

"You're forgiven okay? No one is mad at you for anything!"

"R-really?" asked the siren sniffling, looking up from her latched position on Itami's leg.

"Yes."

"So...so you're not going to put my head on a pike?"

"No, we don't even have pikes."

"And, you're not going to sell me as a slave?"

"No, we don't believe in slavery."

"And...I'm not going to be a concubine?" asked the siren hopefully.

"I would never take you as a concubine," said Itami, trying once again to free his leg from the vice grip of the siren girl who had stopped crying and at those words seemed to breath a sigh of relief, letting go and sitting back on her haunches.

"That's such a re-wait a minute. What do you mean you'd never take me as a concubine? Am I not good enough for you or something?" demanded the girl, a cross look on her face. "I mean I know I'm not the prettiest bird in the flock, but not even as a concubine? Really? I mean really?" said the girl, inspecting her bosom.

"Itami, what are you saying to her?" demanded Kurokawa, helping the siren to her feet, getting between Itami and the girl inspecting herself. "Lelei, what were they talking about?"

"They were talking about the siren becoming Itami's concubine," answered the young mage in her ever level tone.

"That's only part of it, and it's not even accurate," said Itami, but received nothing but glares from the female members of the team as they helped the siren into the supply truck when it became apparent that she had a limp and a sore ankle. Getting off surprisingly lightly for having being hit by a vehicle.

Itami sighed wearily as he got back into his vehicle, Kurokawa getting behind the wheel, much more subdued now than before.

"Do you think she'll be okay?"

"Kurokawa, if she can do that after being hit by a truck, I think that she's going to be just fine. Don't worry about it okay? It was an accident and nobody got seriously hurt."

"Yeah, okay," said Kurokawa unconvincingly. Hesitating to put the vehicle in gear.

"Do you want me to drive for a while instead?"

"Yeah, thanks Itami. I guess I'm still just a little freaked out about the whole thing. Sorry about this."

"Don't be. It's nothing to be sorry about, besides you've been doing most of the driving anyways. Been figuring I should do some too."

"Thanks again," said Kurokawa, switching spots with Itami and the column continuing on, albeit with another passenger added to their ranks.

Xxx

"Think you're in trouble?" asked Boris as they walked up to the HQ building.

"Why would _I_ just be in trouble?"

"You're the officer, hence you get the fallout when things go wrong. That, and I doubt that that it's anything good. Never want to stand out my friend. Be the gray man like I've always said. Christ I hate having to go up to the brass. This is the kind of shit that gets you shot," said Boris. The old veteran visibly agitated.

"You were happy I got out before," said Feliks.

"Yeah, but that was before you said you blew up a goddamned building to do it. That's how you start a war."

"Maybe, but protocol is clear when it comes to advanced weapons systems falling into enemy hands. I had no choice. Whatever else comes of it will come."

"What do you mean advanced weapons systems? All you had were jeeps and standard kit."

"Jeeps that have more efficient engines than our enemy possess, hence making them advanced. Since I could not recover them, they had to be destroyed."

"You've got spetsnaz brain sir, you've probably just got us into another damned war."

"I doubt it. If it comes down to it, I'll probably be handed over like a sacrificial lamb to try and ease any hard feelings. I'm not valuable enough to start a war. That being said I certainly haven't helped anything, but neither did they when they kidnapped me and my men."

"I hate going up to the brass," said Boris, fidgeting with his dress uniform.

"Don't worry, I'll take full responsibility for what happened."

"Don't be too quick to say that sir, I've done a bit more living than you have. There's no reason to throw yourself onto your sword because they need someone to blame. Dammit, I know that you did some dumb shit, no offense sir."

"None taken."

"But they must have known what we were going to run into. Don't offer anything they don't ask for and play down the negatives as much as you can. With any luck you'll get off without too much hassle, maybe just a demotion and transfer to Siberia."

"So no saying I blew up a building and killed two JSDF soldiers?"

"Oh god, don't say that sir," sputtered Boris mortified.

Feliks chucked at Boris' expression.

"Why aren't you worried?" demanded the veteran, irritated at his younger superior's calm demeanor.

"Would it help?" deadpanned Feliks.

A few short minutes later, they were waiting outside the General's office in the now finished HQ building that had still been under construction when they left. Utilitarian, spartan, and industrial construction. The hallways reeked of paint as the finishing touches were put into place, but for all intents and purposes the building was operational. The walls would be a sterile white when the paint dried, but Boris switched his attention from the painters to Feliks when he noticed the young man kept glancing at the two military police guarding the door leading to Alexandrov's office.

"What's up?" asked Boris in a subdued tone of voice.

"Those aren't military police," murmured Feliks looking nowhere in particular.

"Same as you then?"

"Yup."

"Goddammit," grunted Boris, grinding his metal teeth.

"Relax, if they were going to do that they wouldn't have called us here."

"You sure about that sir?"

"First hand experience."

"The General will see you now," said one of the faux military police officers. Without further adieu, Feliks and Boris entered the General's office and stood at attention, saluting crisply.

"Hi Boris!" said Luella, the cheerful elf having no regard for military protocol. She was sitting in a plush chair that had obviously been moved next to the general's desk and she was eating a chocolate bar. "Have you guys had this stuff called chocolate? It's great!"

"Miss Luella, remember when we talked about military etiquette?" asked Alexandrov in a fatherly tone to the 'young' elf.

"Yeah," said the elf like a chastised child, nibbling on her chocolate bar.

"Now then gentlemen, I'd like you to take a seat," said Alexandrov gesturing to two chairs set in front of his desk. There was a moments hesitation from the two soldiers before they accepted the informal invitation. Soviet officers, general officers especially, did not usually conduct interviews or receive reports in such a manner. Nothing but absolute respect and subservience was normally permitted. Despite this, both men sat down and placed their caps on their laps, hands folded properly.

"I've read over your reports of what happened on your mission and they're nearly identical, up until you made contact with the JSDF and the American USMC. Now I have a few questions."

xxx

"Damn, I don't know what would be worse, that, or if they had just shot us," said Boris lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag, before blowing out an even longer stream of smoke.

"Probably getting shot," said Feliks, snatching the cigarette from Boris and taking a drag.

"I thought you didn't smoke?"

"I quit," said Feliks taking another drag. "But sometimes I need one."

"Getting shot at and captured doesn't make you need one, but talking to the General does? Sir."

"That is correct sergeant."

"Shit, you're more like a young me than I though," said Boris with a chuckle lighting another cigarette.

"But comrade we're all one in our class struggle," said Feliks satirically.

"You know you don't push that near as hard as the other officers do sir," said Boris.

"Can't really blame them. We're supposed to instill loyalty to the party."

"Yeah? So why don't you give speeches like the other officers then sir?"

"I'm not a political officer and personally I don't give a shit if my men like the party or not so long as they do their jobs properly and care about each other. Plus most of those speeches bored the hell outta me and I'm going to guess it's the same for most everyone else."

"Except for Zonov, that guy loves his party gospel."

"That he does Sergeant."

Both man sat and smoked in silence, sitting on crates that had yet to be moved, looking down on the lower rings of the camp. Amazed at how quickly everything was being put up.

"Why do you think Luella was there sir? To put us at ease?"

"Might have been. All I know is that if he's telling a lowly senior lieutenant and his sergeant about recon photos of a group of trucks heading this way we're going to be involved in it."

"So much for being the gray man, sounds like we're the golden boys now," muttered Boris. "Fucking hate getting picked for special assignments. By special you know that they mean dangerous."

"Yeah, but we haven't been picked for anything yet Boris."

"We will be, don't you worry about that sir. Heh, you should have seen how pissed that silver haired bitch was when she got put in with those refugees we took in."

"Don't talk about Ianthe like that," said Feliks, a sudden anger rising up in him similar to that if anyone had mocked his unit.

"She kneed me in the balls."

"Well you're done having kids aren't you Boris?"

"You've got a mouth you know that sir?"

"In addition to other body parts yes." Boris sighed at that.

"I know that this is a bad time, but you think you could help get a leave request approved? I know it's short notice, but if we're going to keep doing this kinda stuff I'd like to go home and see the missis and my youngest one if we're going to keep doing this kinda work. At least doing regular soldiering I could send letters back regularly. I wouldn't need more than three days."

"I'll give you ten days, Leningrad is a ways from Kiev and you don't want to pop in say hi and leave right away right?"

"Well thanks sir, I appreciate that. But I doubt I'll get that much."

"No, you will. Technically we're not attached to any other divisions which gives me complete authority over every man in our unit. So I'm the only one that needs to approve anything. So you will get your ten days."

"Huh. Not letting that power mess with your head are you sir?"

"Bow when you address me peasant." Boris laughed at that, grinning around his cigarette.

"Hey Boris," said Feliks, an odd note coming into his voice as if unsure he really wanted to say anything.

"Yes sir?"

"I'm not allowed to tell you everything I did in the GRU, but I can tell you some of the stuff we did, no names of course."

"Got some war stories to share sir?"

"In a manner of speaking. You know I lied about the reason I left the GRU right?"

"It was fairly obvious."

"Huh. The reason I left was that a lot of guys burn out doing the kind of stuff that the GRU does. Real boogeyman kind of operations, stuff you need a pretty strong stomach to do. They don't show it right away, some guys deal with it very well, some get violent, some get depressed and some never get out of it. Most guys take quite a few tries to get in and I got into the GRU straight out of training at 17 and I can tell you that doesn't happen too often. I was pretty gung ho when I got it too."

"Got tired of it, did you sir?" asked Boris, an understanding tone in his voice.

"No, it was easy for me and it scared me a little to be honest," said Feliks. "It got to the point where I could kill someone without even thinking about it and hardly remember the person the next day. Soldiers, politicians, scientists, women...children. I would do anything, kill anyone they ordered me to, anyone at all without thought. Without question. They turn you into a weapon, teach you different ways to kill yourself to avoid capture and if necessary everyone of us would have taken our own lives if ordered to. I was worried what I was going to become. Maybe I did get tired of it though. I stopped caring about what I did, stopped going out, didn't speak too much to family for a while there. I felt...I felt like I was at a tipping point, saw what could happen and got out, went to a border division that wouldn't see any action to finish out my service. Some of the stuff they taught me I still do, it's just part of me now. You get paranoid like the KGB in the GRU. Get taught by a lot of them too. I sit next to a wall in a restaurant so nobody can get behind me. So I can see everything going on. I watch everything and everyone no matter where I go. When I look into store windows I don't look at what's inside, I look at the reflection on the glass to see everyone around me. What they're doing, what they're wearing. Who has a limp, who's weak, who looks like they know how to fight, who just thinks they do, and if anyone's paying attention to me. Funny thing being though, is that even with all the things I've done, I miss the GRU. If I was offered a position tomorrow, I'd pack my bags and head back and pick up right where I left off. Does that seem odd to you?"

"No. Anyone will tell you that getting deployed is the best and worst time of their life. You bond with people in combat, really bond to them. Especially in small units like you were in. Become closer than family. Everything seems more real when you're deployed, you feel more alive and you don't realize it till you go home. Everything seems dull and mundane. You can't understand why people are complaining over little things like breaking a pen or stressing out over having a flat tire. It seems trivial. Eventually you sign on for another tour, some people get problems though, some get meaner than hell, but everyone deals with in different. You get hardwired for combat and it's hard to switch it off sometimes. People are really good at adapting to their situation, hell, sometimes when it's raining out hard I still remember being in Turkey on that hill, thinking how miserable it would be to be there in that rain. Honestly I wouldn't worry about it too much, but if you ever have problems or something's troubling you just come and we'll have a talk eh? Anytime you like."

"Thanks Boris, I might take you up on that."

"Good. Guess us old buggers are still good for something anyways. Now let's go get something to eat. I'm hungry."

"A birthday supper then?" asked Feliks.

"It's your birthday today?"

"Well a month and a week ago, but I suppose so," answered Feliks.

"So you're what then? 23 now?"

"24," answered Feliks.

"You lied about your age too? I thought you were 22."

"At one point in time I was."

"Anything else I should know about you sir?"

"I can't think of anything at present Sergeant."

"I'm not going to find out that you're a Romanov or something like that am I sir?"

"Oh Sergeant, everyone knows that Anastasia was the last real Romanov whom changed her name and was moved by a series of supporters to Paris and married a duke and now they have three kids. All of whom have been under surveillance by the NKVD and now the KGB in case she were to try and press a claim or go public about her real identity."

"What was that?" said Boris bewildered.

"What was what?" asked Feliks innocently.

"You know what, I don't want to know. Keep your secrets to yourself. But I do know one thing about you."

"What's that?"

"You're still a virgin, nobody would say something that embarrassing, even as a cover."

"Hey," said Feliks indignant.

Xxx

There were many things that frustrated Ianthe in life, she had never tried to hide it, nor would she have been able to. One thing that annoyed her more than anything though at current was her employer.

Coming upon the city that had sprung up from the earth as if by magic since she had last been to Mt. Rubicon had been a thing of awe a testament to the strength of her employers. She now understood the sheer power of the Union, the legions of steel behemoths, fleets of flying machines called planes, and tens of thousands of soldiers. All of them armed with weapons that could obliterate an army like what Ianthe had marched with only a few months prior with ease. Despite this though, Ianthe couldn't help but feel her pride stung.

She had entered a contract with the Red Army, a mutually binding agreement tying her to one of its officers and what was the first thing the man does when they return? Dump her in with _slaves and dog men_. She was duty bound to follow orders, but there was an understanding of mutual respect when you hired a Messalonian mercenary. An unspoken agreement. You were not to abuse them, or demean them by giving them tasks below their station. They weren't your servant, they were your vassal, your shadow. Not a sword that you could simply hang up when you didn't have a use for it at the moment. Such a condition was why Ianthe was sharing a barracks with 100 other _people_ and Maximus was forced to stay in the surrounding countryside. This had all proven to do one thing and one thing only, frustrate an already angry mercenary. So Ianthe was trying to bleed out her anger like she always did, with physical exertion. So far it wasn't working.

Every muscle burned as Ianthe brought her chin up above the rafter beam, extending out her legs in front of her, before lowering them, and then herself and doing it all over again. Sweat stung her eyes and she blinked it away, focusing on doing the exercise even as he muscles screamed at her for rest. With trembling arms, Ianthe managed to do one more, then sensing her arms about to fail, let go and fell to the floor below, landing nimbly on her feet. Breathing a sigh of relief, Ianthe wiped her sweaty silver hair out of her eyes and went to her bed, grabbing a pitcher of water and drinking deeply, before stretching out her arms. There was a series of clinks every time that she moved, the rocks of her weighted vest knocking against each other and with deft hands, she undid the leather straps and let it fall to the ground with a clatter.

Laying back on her bed, Ianthe tried to imagine that she was alone and not surrounded by squalling babes, and a dozen races of beings speaking a dozen languages, none of which she could understand. She almost succeeded except for one particular elf who seemed determined to not allow her respite.

"Hi Ianthe."

"Hello Luella," answered the mercenary irritably.

"How's it going?"

"Good if I were an unskilled beggar looking for handouts. For a trained draconian knight, not so well," said Ianthe sitting up and turning to the elf dressed in the clothes of the Soviets.

"Oh. Well I don't think that you'll be here too long. Once Volkin goes out on another mission I'm sure you'll go with him. You were a big help last time."

"I was more than a help, I rescued him and his men. My reward for which is...this," said Ianthe gesturing around. A tent would have been much preferable. I even asked to pitch my own but was refused. I was even refused to share barracks with my liege. This is not how you treat a Messalonian mercenary." Ianthe set her jaw and let out flexed her fists in consternation. "I do appreciate you coming to see me though, I enjoy your company and it means a lot to me," continued the mercenary, realizing that the elf was probably taking her frustration and anger as a direct attack against her.

"Yeah, it really is too bad," said Luella sympathetically. "But only interpreters get to be in the Soviet sections of the camp. And to do that you have to be able to speak Russian. If you want though I could probably bring you to our eating hall, it's much better than the one you're going to."

"What was that?" asked Ianthe, eyes alight with excitement.

"Our eating hall is much better," said Luella.

"No, no, before that. If I learn Russian I can move about the camp at will? No more sitting in here?"

"Well...in a manner of speaking. They're a lot more strict than a regular army."

"It doesn't matter. Luella, will you teach me how to speak Russian? I ask this as a favor of you, one which I will repay in kind. If not in money, then with my skill. Speak a name and I shall see it erased for this privilege."

"Uh….uh...well, I'd be happy to teach you," smiled the elf a little too widely to be natural after a moment of abject horror. "Just...please don't kill anyone okay?"

"Then our contract is made!" exclaimed the silver haired mercenary gleefully, picking up the smaller woman and spinning her around. "When shall we begin my tutelage?"

"Tomorrow, after evening meal."

"I shall await your return with baited breath instructor," said Ianthe, bowing her head in respect and kneeling, bringing a fist to her breast. "From now on I am your student and I shall show you all proper deference. Ask of me anything you will."

"O-okay. Just don't hurt anyone while you're here alright?"

"That will not be a problem instructor, one attempted indecency, but learned his place. I have had no other attempts on my virtue since," said Ianthe glaring with icy eyes over at a dog man, who quickly looked away when his eyes met with Ianthe's. Seeming to try and shrink in upon himself.

"Well...that's good. I'll see you later Ianthe," said Luella, a measure of her cheer returning.

"I will await your return with baited breath instructor," said Ianthe.

AN: Well that's another chapter out of the way, sorry for the delay, but I've been busy doing some stuff the past couple of weeks, and my free time has been taken up by CK2. Game is addicting, also brings out the evil feudal lord in you. Seriously, killing one of your kids so that they won't split your empire is common early game.

Anyways please leave a review and tell me what you think. Also did anyone notice that in chapter two Luella lied to Feliks and Boris to make them help Ianthe?


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Before I start I would just like to say that a reviewer brought to light some things that I have been doing that aren't exactly historically accurate in terms of Soviet/Russian culture and way that people address each other. That being said I don't really think I can change that now, because it would seem kind of schizophrenic to change it halfway through. I might go back and edit it at a later point in time though to make it more accurate. To all the Russian readers, (who are the second largest group that reads this) sorry about the mistakes. Also one of the readers said I didn't really capture the spirit of the Russian/Soviet Army. What was that like? One more quick thing, I made a mistake about the main gun of the T-55. It uses a D10T 100mm rifled gun, not a 105mm. That's something that the Israelis do to upgrade and export it.

The life of a slave, while lacking freedom and autonomy, is not always the living hell that it is often portrayed as. There are many different types of slaves. Some are bought for protection as bodyguards for their strength and martial prowess. Treated well and valued as one may value a fine coat. Others, to become professional fighters. Gladiators and athletes, highly sought after, their name ringing throughout the land. Glory and riches the likes of which even lords would be jealous of heaped upon them. Food, drink, women, men, whatever those who survive the bloody sands want they receive. For those who prove themselves champions of the sand, freedom is often given, nay, demanded by the adoring masses. For many though, even after earning their freedom they remain upon the sand to display their prowess. Not for loyalty to a former master, but for the roar of the crowd that rises like a tidal wave towards the heavens, reaching an impossible crescendo as steel meets flesh. For the best of them, they rise from being slaves to more powerful than the Emperor himself in the moment of adulation from their fans. Statues are erected of them so all may remember them and the next generation aspire to be them. Becoming deities themselves in the reverence awarded them. The men who began as slaves and became as gods.

Others, such as household servants, have a less dangerous and more mundane existence within a household. Some with kind owners even treated as family by those who they call master. Slaves can have a variety of duties ranging from merely doing menial chores to educating their masters children. Indeed, educated slaves can fetch a fair price, valued for their knowledge and insight they are often bought by noble families or those wishing for a learned man to teach their offspring. They can also be the family cook, a seamstress, a nursemaid, a caretaker. For all intents and purposes it can almost be a normal existence and the luckiest, those who are picked by kindhearted families, know that the title of slave is just that, a title. For how else would a child raised all their life treat a woman who had raised them all their life other than as mother? Or a boy taught the martial arts by a bought man other than as a stern, but fair teacher? The life of a household slave can be harsh, abusive, and dark. But it can also be filled with joy and achievement if the gods feel so inclined.

Other slaves have a more base and demeaning existence. Courtesans, concubines, pleasure slaves, whatever the name the carnal meaning is the same. Merely used as objects for the amusement and pleasure of their masters, many are treated as little better than inanimate objects to be used at will. Discarded once too old or displeasing for their master to bear to look at any longer, much less touch. Doomed to scratch out a living as a cheap whore plying a trade that will no doubt lead to them laying in an alley with their throat slit. Yet even amongst these slaves there are those who become renowned for their various skills. Whether singing, dancing, artistry, seduction, or more carnal abilities they can be sought after. Sometimes even by Emperors themselves, elevating them from the status of simple slave, from object to use and discard at will to an object of worship. The merest whisper from these masters of seduction, of intimacy, will see entire kingdoms brought low. Will see the greatest of men grin like fools and the noblest of knights lay down their lives in an instant. For a kiss, for a whisper, for a simple caress, the fate of thousands can be decided. Whoever has said that a Courtesan lacks power has no idea of the power the best have over the hearts of men.

For another type of slave however, there truly is no hope. No possibility of some semblance of a noble life, no chance at riches or fame and glory. No gentle caress to sway opinion, no grateful student to call on for aid. No hope of anything other than hope itself and a mad dream of one day being free, or of dying. That is the life of a slave sold to the mines.

Forced to work in Hardy's domain, the mistress of the underworld takes cruel delight in taking the lives of those who pray so fervently to her for protection and mercy. Often their makeshift shrines and altars the first to be buried in a cave in. Sometimes their lights igniting the very air itself into flame. Other times whole groups of miners die, fallen victim to some foul air that robs men of life. Those far enough away to escape, unable to because of the chain that binds them all at the ankle. With enough fallen, the rest are unable to run, to escape their death and so much patiently wait for it or use their pick to take off their own foot. Condemning them to merely a different death, one much less merciful.

Some don't see the sun for days, months, years at a time even. Their eyes adapting to the darkness as surely as if they had lived in it all their lives. There is no escape from the mines, no chance of mercy or salvation. The work is backbreaking, the pace unrelenting. Day in and day out, with barely enough sleep to function, barely enough food to live they work. They toil, swinging pick and shovel, filling bags with ore so those with backs now permanently stooped can carry it to the surface.

Whether gold, iron, silver, copper, or mythril, the conditions never vary though the metal may. A mine slave was a slave meant to live in darkness, toil in misery, and die uncared for and unloved. It is a truly hellish existence that never varies in its torment day in or day out. Rains merely making the paths out of the pit muddy and treacherous, burying countless slaves in mudslides. The sun baking their skin hard and crisp like tanned leather, painful to the touch. Many collapsing from exhaustion in the sun, never to rise again, even at the encouragement of the drivers lash.

The lash of the driver, announced by the resounding _crack_ of the whip became such a part of their lives that it made each of them wonder if there had ever been a time in their lives that it had been absent. No one among them seemed to care, no one seemed to ponder it. They were a thousand people of a thousand races and creeds, some separated by generations of grievances, but brought together in their shared misery. To be a slave sold to the mines was to be a slave sentenced to death by any number of means. It was usually a short life, the work, conditions, and nature of what they did nearly mandated as such.

Edgar was one such slave who had defied that logic. He was old, by his count entering his fiftieth season, but to those who saw him would have thought him much older. His frame was gaunt and sinewy, permanently stooped from countless years of carrying heavy bags of ore and rock. His face deeply lined, back and shoulders scarred from sharp and jagged edges of ore that he had taken to carrying all of his life. What little hair he had left was snow white and wispy like gossamer strands, lank against the baked skin of his scalp. Most of his teeth long having since fallen out, the few that remained nubs from eating the hardtack and rotten meat that they were expected to survive on.

He worked with slow and plodding steps, like that of a tired nag, too proud to concede its age and retire to a life of leisurely pasture life, except there was no pride in him. No leisurely life waiting for him. Merely a will to continue on. The reason why was unclear, but Edgar believed, believed that one day he would be free, that he would not die in the mine he had spent his entire life slaving away in. It was a mad dream, he admitted as much to himself, but it was a dream that he refused to let go of. When he could do no more, he held onto that dream to keep sane, to stay alive. In the Big Deep, you had to.

The Big Deep was the largest mythril mine in the Empire, some said the continent. Whether it was true or not was up to debate, but the fact that remained was that the mine was _massive_. Tens of thousands of slaves worked it and its sisters mines connected by a series of tunnels. Streams of slaves carrying sacks of ore moved like columns of ants, depositing their loads into carts before returning to grab another. All as grungy, dirty, and pitiful as Edgar was himself. The ringing of thousands of picks was a chorus that never ceased, never lessened and never increased. Like the heartbeat of the mine itself Edgar didn't even notice it anymore unless he listened for it.

The mine was guarded my a legion of drivers, legionnaires, and ferocious ork mercenaries. Each as cruel as the other, all willing to strip flesh from bone with oiled leather whips at the slightest provocation. What the provocation could be changing from day to day. Their outposts, wooden towers with a shack a the base dotted the horizon in every direction, with the regional fort not far if they required more men, which they never did. Why would you need more men to watch over the empty husks of slaves? There could be one, and so long as the crack of his whip could be heard the slaves would remain as if there were thousands. Toiling away until they died.

As he crested the final lip of the Big Deep, ready to deposit the sack of ore before returning for another, he heard a noise. One that came through the ringing of picks, the crack of whips, and shuffling of a thousand pairs of feet. Not for its volume did Edgar notice it, but the oddity of it. It was music, so long had since he had heard it it took him a while to even remember what it was. Yet it was not the harp or the lute, it was something else, like a trumpet, but different altogether. So doing as he had never done in his life as a slave of the mine, Edgar stopped and listened. To his surprise he was not reprimanded and slowly it seemed, the heartbeat of the mine slowed, then stopped as eyes looked skyward to where the music was coming from.

 _Apple and pear trees were a-blooming_

 _Mist was creeping on the river_

 _Katyusha set out on the banks_

 _On the Steep and lofty bank_

 _She was walking singing a song_

 _About a grey steppe eagle_

 _About her true love_

 _Whose letters she was keeping_

 _Oh you song! Little song of a maiden_

 _Head for the bright sun_

 _And reach for the soldier on a far-away border_

 _Along with greetings from Katyusha_

 _Let Him remember an ordinary girl_

 _And hear how she sings_

 _Let him preserve the Motherland_

 _Same as Katyusha preserves their love_

Edgar didn't know what the words were, but he did another thing he had never done in all his years as a slave of the mines. He dropped his bag of mythril ore. On the horizon, as far as he could see were iron beasts speaking with human voices, a devils symphony coming from them and nowhere at the same time.

They growled together as one, loudly, but not overcoming the human voices that emanated from them. They hung in the sky like dragons, looking reptilian themselves but with no wings other than stubs protruding from the sides and bubbled eyes atop each other. There were dozens of them and the longer he stared at them the larger they became until he could make out the mottled color of their skin, a black metal tongue underneath flicking this way and that from within fearsome teeth.

Above and below each other, they moved with one purpose as if of one mind. Each seemingly the same distance from each other, but none directly in front of the other. The Big Deep was a massive crater of a mine, stretching for miles with its sister mines that appeared like open sores upon the earth. Dark as if with infection, the mines hemorrhaged ore, dirt, clay, and misery alike. The main mine of the Big Deep was like a stab wound. Deep, ugly, and painful. The size of which was hard to comprehend. Yet there were enough of these beasts that they stretched out until they could cover them all.

The last note died away and for a moment there was utter silence save for the thumping of the approaching beasts, then another tune started to play. Low at first with drums but building in intensity and power until it was like a wave. Then the world around them exploded as the beasts began to howl and shriek at them.

Red streaks of fire erupted from the mouth of the metal dragons, seeking out man and beast alike, chasing them down no matter where they ran to.

 _The White Army and the Black Baron  
_

 _Are trying to restore the Czar's throne,  
_

 _But from the taiga to the British seas  
_

 _The Red Army is the strongest of all!_

The earth exploded around them, throwing up great mounts of dirt, rock, ore, and body parts as the world was stolen away by thunder and magic the likes of with Edgar had never heard of. It was as if Hardy had finally grown tired of their constant pleas for salvation and had decided to wipe them from the earth.

 _ **Let the Red Army**  
_

 _ **Masterfully grip**  
_

 _ **Its bayonet with its toil-hardened hand,**  
_

 _ **And we must all**  
_

 _ **Irrepressibly**  
_

 _ **Go into a last deadly fight!** _

Edgar hugged the Earth, praying to hardy for salvation, for the goddess of the underworld to call off her beasts of hell and spare their lives. The hot, dry, stale dirt filling his nose and finding every crevice upon him to fill. The creatures passed by low overhead, roaring angrily, never pausing for breath, heedless of the cries of pain from man and beast alike. Something hot hit Edgars head and rolled away and against his better judgment and fear he looked at it.

 _Red Army, march, march forward!  
_

 _The Revolutionary military council calls us into battle.  
_

 _For from the taiga to the British seas  
_

 _The Red Army is the strongest of all!_

It was an empty brass cylinder, like a vase but too small and hot to the touch. Seamless in its design, uniform in its design. Smelling sharply and unpleasantly, burned powder on the inside like charcoal. Hundreds, thousands of such cylinders were falling from the sky like a brass rain.

 _ **Let the Red Army**  
_

 _ **Masterfully grip**  
_

 _ **Its bayonet with its toil-hardened hand,**  
_

 _ **And we must all**  
_

 _ **Irrepressibly**  
_

 _ **Go into a last deadly fight!** _

It dawned on Edgar that these weren't natural creatures, for natural creatures, even dragons did not use metal. They did not make such sounds, nor could they mimic a choir of voices so perfectly as these were doing. These were iron Pegasus, great and terrible. Edgar looked up into the sky to watch the things.

 _We are fanning the flames of a world-wide fire,  
_

 _We will raze banks and prisons to the ground.  
_

 _For from the taiga to the British seas  
_

 _The Red Army is the strongest of all!_

They spat meteors of fire that left trails of smoke in their wake that exploded when they hit something. It was explosion magic, but cast with such skill and speed that Edgar feared the sages capable of such a feat of magical prowess. But where was the light of magic? There was merely the light of flames, the heat and deafening claps as beings and structures were obliterated.

 _ **Let the Red Army**  
_

 _ **Masterfully grip**  
_

 _ **Its bayonet with its toil-hardened hand,**  
_

 _ **And we must all**  
_

 _ **Irrepressibly**  
_

 _ **Go into a last deadly fight!** _

As the last notes died away, leaving only the iron Pegasus spitting fire and magic, Edgar saw that there was men _inside_ of the creatures. Men who even now were reshaping the earth around them. Not a single driver was spared, anyone in the crimson livery of the drivers or the legion were sought out and destroyed, explosions rocking the entirety of the mine, threatening to return it to Hardy herself. Most of all though, Edgar saw the symbol painted boldly on the side of the iron Pegasus. A simple red star.

One passed low overhead, making wind tug and pull at the tattered and soiled remains of what had once been clothing, causing dust to swirl up like grasping fingers, reaching greedily towards the Pegasus, but too slow to grasp it, swirling away to nothingness in anger, only to rise again as another passed overhead. The dust choking Edgar and making him sputter. The iron Pegasus were like beasts from Emroy set loose. Each one of them seemed to have more power than a full regiment of Imperial Legionnaires, sending even the fearsome orks running for their lives.

When not a single driver or Imperial soldier remained, they turned and left just as quickly as they had come. Soon fading into the distance like they had been no more than a vivid imagining. As Edgar rose to his full stooped height however, he could plainly see that was not the case.

Every guard tower had been reduced to splinters. Every barracks for their wardens was now a burning crater and those few who remained of their number, stunned and dazed, were soon set upon by now revitalized slaves. Beating them with heavy chunks of rocky ore. Invigorated by the apparent vengeance their fervent prayers had wrought upon their captors. Believing the gods to be on their sides, the former husks of defeated slaves became lions, proud and vicious.

Soon though a new noise was heard and iron carriages with long cloth covered backs appeared with growling sounds. Kicking up powdery dust in their wake from the hard baked road like an approaching storm. There was no horses pulling them though so as to how they moved, Edgar did not know. Yet they drove into the mine and men in mottled clothing emerged, carrying strange staffs of wood and metal. There were many such vehicles, as well as what could only be metal elephants with their long snouts, but they looked like no elephant that Edgar had ever seen. Their growl was deeper, more powerful, and the look of them was such a thing meant to fight and kill.

As they drew closer, he saw that some of them were elves, noticeable by their pointed ears and each seemed to have a quartet of guards around them. One of which came up to Edgar.

"Are you the new owners of the mine milords?" asked Edgar, careful to keep his eyes downcast from the elf and large men surrounding him.

"No, I am to inform you that the Red Army of the Soviet Union has come to liberate all slaves of this mine and offer them shelter and sanctuary."

"Milord?" asked Edgar, unable to even fully understand what was being said to him.

"I am not a lord, no one here is a lord," said the elf, not unkindly. "We've come to help you and provide you with food, water, and shelter. Would you like that?"

"Yes milord," said Edgar, careful to keep his eyes downcast.

"My name is Rissien, you can call me that if you like."

"As you command Lord Rissien. What would you wish of me?"

"Well if you would like, you can head over to the trucks with the red cross on it. We'll take you back to Mt. Rubicon and you will be given food, water, shelter, and medicine if you so wish it. Only if you so choose though," added Rissien. "If you wish you may leave here and no one will stop you."

"Yes milord," was all Edgar said and began his slow and steady plod towards the waiting trucks as the elf had called them. The same slow and steady pace that he had used throughout his long life of slavery, but there was a spring to his step, a glee now to reach his destination instead of just quiet resignation. Even if what he had just been told was a lie, it was at least a beautiful lie.

Xxx

"Too damned hot," complained Feliks wiping a bead of sweat away from the brim of his cap.

"It's winter back in the Union right now Comrade Lieutenant. I'm sure you could just take a jaunt through and cool off before coming back."

"That is true Comrade Senior Sergeant. All I'd have to do for few moments of brisk, refreshing winter air would be me submitting the proper leave papers, getting processed and screened at the Gate, travel through, be held in quarantine for an undetermined amount of time to make sure I wasn't bringing any bugs back and then I could enjoy the cool air. Then go through the same thing coming back."

"Exactly Comrade, I don't know why you wouldn't do that."

"Me either now that I think about it. I mean I'd be crazy to not want to do it."

"Exactly Comrade Lieutenant," said Boris grinning, his metal teeth shining through.

"Well that looks like them," said Feliks looking at the distant column of vehicles making their way up the winding Imperial highway. Feliks himself was with the majority of his unit, as well as the picket force that had two T-55s and a shilka to their name besides

"Well we had best greet them politely then, shouldn't we Comrade Lieutenant? Hey Luella, what are you eating?"

"Chocolate," answered back the elf taking another bite of the bar in her hand.

"You've been eating a lot of that lately."

"I like it."

"You really shouldn't eat so much of that stuff," admonished the veteran, reaching out to take the bar from the elf, only for Luella to turn her body away and take another bite of the chocolate, glaring all the while. Boris stopped, stunned for receiving his first glare from the elf, or really any kind of hostility at all for that matter.

"Darling too much of that stuff isn't good for you," said Boris holding out his hand for the bar.

Luella however failed to answer, instead taking a huge bite of chocolate like a defiant child.

"Okay, you're cut off," said Boris making to grab for the chocolate, but stopping when Luella crumpled the wrapper around what remained of the bar and stuffed it down the front of her shirt and glaring intensely as the man, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk from the massive bite she had taken of it.

"I don't think you're going to be getting her chocolate Comrade Sergeant," said Feliks.

"I don't think I will," admitted Boris under the withering glare of the petite elf.

"Well they're getting closer anyways," said Feliks watching the approaching Japanese vehicles. The weapons cupola unoccupied on the vehicle with the heavy machine gun and their speed had slowed too. Obviously they were doing their best to not appear to be hostile and not cause a violent reception. One which the T-55s would make short work of with their main guns. The turrets of which were traversing ever so slowly, tracking the incoming vehicles.

A few short moments later and the leader of the patrol group was walking up the embankment towards them, seemingly none too pleased about it. As he got closer, Feliks realized much to his surprise that it was Itami trudging his way up. Bereft of any weapons to boot.

"Hi," said Itami with a wave, walking seemingly unperturbed by the mass of Soviet hardware arrayed in front of him.

"Hello Lieutenant, it is good to see you again, though I am starting to think that we always meet by way of me intercepting you."

"Looks that way," mused Itami. "Though next time I think you'll have a battleship. I mean it was jeeps first and now tanks," said Itami gesturing to the steel goliaths dug into the ground. Despite himself, Feliks actually laughed.

"We don't have any battleships, but we have many cruisers. Unfortunately we seem to be quite land locked here. Perhaps merely more tanks? We have many of those."

"I'd honestly be surprised if you didn't. So uh, thanks for not shooting us the moment you saw us."

"We knew you were coming a long time before you arrived. We pride ourselves on reconnaissance. My superiors are quite eager to meet you and I believe that this is the reason that you came all this way to see us?"

"Well not me specifically. I've got a diplomat with me. Mr. Sugawara, he's the one who's going to be doing all the talking."

"My superiors will be most happy to hear that. As for your other companions, is the apostle among them?"

"No, she stayed back at Alnus," said Itami, noting the apprehension in Felik's voice. "The others are here though."

"So the elf and the other girl are here?"

"Yeah, and someone else we kinda ran over."

"I see. Well if he wishes we are currently accepting refugees at Mt. Rubicon if he wishes to stay."

"Well it's a she actually," mumbled Itami.

"I see. Forgive me for saying, but you seem to travel with near exclusive female company," said Volkov.

"Tell me about it," muttered Itami, moving his hand like a moving mouth. "All the time."

"My condolences," said Volkov with a grin.

"Eh, it's alright. I actually like their company now."

"Well that is good. I believe that we've tarried long enough with idle chatter. I believe we should continue on now. Obviously we'll have to remove the ability of your heavy machine gun to function before we proceed."

"Yeah, I figured as much. You can take the whole thing off if you like. Huh? I think the lady there has a question," said Itami pointing at Luella with her hand raised like a pupil in class.

"Yes, what is it?" asked Feliks, not unkindly to the elf in Russian.

"I thought I saw an elf down there. Is there one in the Japanese party?"

"Yes, a high elf I believe."

"Really?" asked Luella, face lighting up in glee. "I want to ride with the Japanese on the way back to Zhukov then."

"Uh...well, you can't," said Feliks caught off guard.

"But one of my kin are with them."

"It doesn't matter Luella, you can talk with her when you get back to Zhukov."

A look came over Luella's face, a kind of pouting defiance that let Feliks know that this wasn't going to end easily.

"But I want to talk with her now," said Luella stubbornly.

"You have to wait I'm afraid, you can't ride with them."

"Well maybe I'll just start walking down towards them and get in?" Feliks actually opened his mouth a little in surprise at the elf's defiance.

"I won't let you do that, drop it Citizen Luella."

"You can't tell me what to do, you're not the boss of me!"

"Luella," said Boris simply, a tone of parental reproach in his voice. "That's enough."

"But I want to see the other elf. I hardly ever get to see my kin from other villages," defended the elf like a chastised child.

"You're an immortal elf and not in any danger of dying of old age anytime soon, I'm sure you can wait another half hour. Hey, no pouting now." Luella gave an unhappy grunt in response and crossed her arms.

"Luella, you're a hundred and thirty six years old, act your age."

"I want to meet my kin."

"She wants to meet the elf in your group," explained Feliks to a rather perplexed Itami.

"Oh, I'm sure Tuka would love that. Hey, are there more elves in your camp?"

"Yes, many. A whole village in fact. Maybe more, I have not been keeping track of it I'm afraid. Why?"

"Well, Tuka's whole family, her whole village was killed by a fire dragon. She was the only survivor and she's been wandering around ever since looking for someone. I think that she's still in shock or traumatized maybe. I was thinking that maybe being around her own people again would help her out."

"My condolences. If she so wishes she may stay and I am sure that the elves of the village hidden in the glade would be more than accommodating."

"What are you talking about? I heard an elvish name, tell me!" interrupted Luella animatedly. Feliks made a mental note to cut her off of her chocolate in the very near future.

"Would you like to ask that again?"

"May I please ask what you are talking about?" asked Luella, more politely after a moments pause.

"We were talking about Tuka and seeing if it would be okay for her to stay with the elves of the village hidden in the glade. Would that be alright?"

"Well of course, if she wants to st-wait, why does she need to stay with us?" asked the petite elf, tilting her head to the side.

"She had no one else so far as I understand," said Feliks.

"What do you mean she has no one else? Every elf has an entire village, and those that don't are either wanderers or criminals who refuse to repent. And both can go back if they listen to the elders and spend a few decades doing service for the village. How can she have no one else?"

"Her village was attacked by a fire dragon Luella, she was the only one who survived."

"Wh...what?" asked the elf as if breathless, all traces of defiance or childish petulance from before disappearing from her face. Her eyes going wide and face paling. "All...all of them?"

"As I understand it, yes."

"So many," murmured Luella, looking at Feliks, but not seeing him, as if looking through him. Her purple eyes going misty. "Yes. Tell Tuka yes, that the wood elves of the village hidden in the glade will take her in and welcome her as one of our own gladly. I...is she okay? If she requires anything at all she only has to ask."

"She's fine Luella, and the sooner we get going back to Zhukov, the sooner that the other elves can talk with her."

"O-okay," said Luella subdued, standing back by Boris and not saying anything.

"Shall we continue back to camp Lieutenant Itami?"

"Yeah, I suppose we should get this over with huh?"

xxx

Pina had been awestruck by the power and might of the Japanese when she had first laid eyes upon Alnus, even with how brief her visit had been to the holy hill. Iron Pegasus had patrolled the skies and iron elephants had roamed the land, unstoppable, oozing power and killing potential like that of a dragon, but with a hide no spear or bow could ever pierce.

She had seen a barren holy hill turned into a mighty fortress, with a great host of at least 10 000 strong upon its summit, armed with weapons the likes of which had lain entire armies to waste. A single soldier possessing the power to lay waste to an entire century of legionnaires. Such had been the power of the Japanese and their American allies.

To see the power of the Soviets was to not see a host of men, but a horde. Great and vast, blanketing Mt. Rubicon with their numbers and equipment. The mountain, the entire mountain was now a giant city, with a stone wall being built around the entire perimeter of it. Rings of defensive emplacements rising up the mountain like iron bands. Herds of iron elephants sat idle or dug into the ground, metal snouts pointed outwards, as if sniffing for prey. Hundreds of soldiers marched this way and that and labor parties worked with an air of determination setting up all manner of buildings. Carriages like what they rode in now snaked their way up and down the mountain like legionnaires in marching columns, filled to the roof with goods of all sorts.

There was an air to this place, different than that of the one on Alnus. These were not men here merely to defend their homeland against possible invasion. No, this was more than that. The field that they drove through to reach the mountain was pockmarked with craters, round and deep. Charred vestiges of bone and armor yet to be removed, all flesh either burned away or eaten by carrion feeders. There were no signs of warning here like at Alnus, nothing to tell of an intrusion into land someone else now considered to be theirs. Or the possible consequences. The devastation was message enough. Even the last of the grisly remains were being pushed into craters and buried by iron elephants with plows on the front.

"Sir Itami, may I please ask what you know of these...Soviets as you call them?" asked Pina courteously.

"These guys? Not a whole lot honestly. They talked about them a little bit in school, but I never really paid a lot of attention to it. Where I'm from they broke up over thirty years ago into smaller countries. I guess what I can tell you is that it will be mostly Russians that we'll be dealing with. But these aren't those Soviets, these are different Soviets."

"Sir Itami, forgive me for saying, but that does not make a lot of sense to me."

"Tell me about it," muttered Itami, half to himself.

The mood here wasn't of an army on the defense, digging in and preparing for another inevitable attack, it was that of an army preparing to go on the march. An army preparing to conquer and she felt a sinking feeling of dread in her stomach at the thought. She had, no, _needed_ to make peace with both these people and the Japanese. If she could not do that though, then she needed to steal any weapons that the Empire could use in turn themselves.

More than that though, she could possibly maneuver one of the other to suit her needs and those of the Empire. If an alliance could be achieved, possibly through marriage between a daughter of noble blood and a leader of these Soviets,

"I understand that you are the diplomat of the Japanese nation?"

"Yes, my name is Koji Sugawara with the ministry of foreign affairs. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance General."

"Thank you, but I am afraid that I can not entirely say the same Citizen Sugawara," answered Alexandrov, studying the man sitting across from him. He was a young man, perhaps in his early thirties with neat black hair and a controlled demeanor. He looked slim, but fit. His hands however appeared soft and barely calloused. More likely his physique was the result of a fitness routine rather than actual physical labor. A true bureaucrat, one had never had to earn a living off of the sweat of his brow.

Rather than take the meeting in his office like he normally did, they were outside on a patio with a large parasol shading them from the sun and cool drinks in front of them in an effort to beat the heat, which made the distance look hazy almost like a mirage. Waves of heat rising off of the freshly laid asphalt that now wrapped itself around the mountain like black veins. The blood cargo trucks and troops instead of hemoglobin. Despite the measures taken though, both men were dressed formally, Alexandrov in his dress uniform and Sugawara in a black business suit, making both men rather uncomfortable in the heat.

They were only a short distance from the HQ building, on a small rise midway up the mountain looking down upon the descending rings of Camp Zhukov. Several armed guards patrolled the perimeter, but more in the course of their regular duties than added security for the meeting.

"I am sorry that you feel that way General."

"As am I. The conditions of our meeting are most unfortunate. As such I can not tell if this is meeting is a blessing or a curse."

"I like to view this as an opportunity."

"I suppose that is a correct interpretation of the situation we now find ourselves in. Before we begin I should say that I have no political authority over what will transpire in the coming days and weeks. All I can do is advise my superiors of your intentions and motivations, as well as my own suggestion as to how we should proceed."

"I understand, I am of the same position as yourself General. I have no authority to make any lasting deals either."

"Forgive my bluntness, but then why are we talking if neither of us has any real power? It seems rather like a waste of time, wouldn't you agree?"

"I am happy to say I do not General. I was sent to try and stop an unintended situation from escalating any further than it already has. The fact that you allowed me to meet with you says that you wish the same. Am I correct to assume so General?"

"You are. You are more perceptive that I gave you credit for Citizen Sugawara. I would have wished for the initial meeting between our two nations to go better, but I am told that you detained my men and gave them the impression that they would not be released, resulting in their escape attempt which left two of my men dead. After such a thing, it is hard to greet you with open arms."

"Two Japanese SDF soldiers were also killed by your men in their escape and several other soldiers were wounded. Some quite severely I might add. I believe that the scales have been balanced."

"You misunderstand me Citizen Sugawara, I don't desire blood to balance the scales, I just want to know that the people I will be negotiating with will be trustworthy. My men went to you in good faith, a faith that was betrayed. Now you have come to the territory of the Union asking for more good faith in your intentions. I just want to know, if we come to an understanding here, will it be held as best as both of us are able to?"

"I can guarantee that I will do everything in my power to make sure it is."

"Good. That is all I needed to know. If you are worried about some sort of retaliation, you needn't trouble yourself about it. I have no desire to make an enemy out of the nation of Japan or its allies. I agree that things could have been handled better on both sides, but a breakdown in communication led to this unfortunate outcome. If you are of the same mind and can give me assurances that your government will not escalate this situation anymore, then so far as I am concerned this matter has been dealt with."

"I am glad to hear you say that. Japan is not a nation that looks for conflict, especially when both of our nations were brought to this world by tragedies. It would dishonor the dead to add another tragedy to the list."

"Now what's the other thing you wanted?"

"Is it that obvious?" asked Sugawara.

"Painfully so."

"My government has a Diet Summons in effect for several members of our military in regards to our military for an incident involving refugees."

"Okay, but how is this my concern?"

"After the incident on Alnus, the topic of discussion has been broadened to the death of the JSDF personnel involved and the USMC personnel as well. I would like to invite the officer under your command, Senior Lieutenant Feliks Volkov to attend and give testimony. If he were to come and tell what happened, it would do much to ease the concerns of my government."

Alexandrov frowned and took a sip of his drink before answering.

"This request does make me rather...suspicious Citizen Sugawara. How do I know that you simply won't try to imprison or prosecute my man when he is in Japan? Once he goes through your Gate, if you detain him you have a bargaining chip to use against the Union."

"I can assure you that he would have diplomatic immunity and protection while a guest in Japan. At the end of his testimony he would be free to return."

"I see. I am inclined to agree to this request, so long as you agree to a few of mine first."

"What would those be?"

"Two Soviet soldiers are dead. This has some members of the Politburo understandably upset and wanting answers. I propose that in exchange for my man to speak before your Diet, he take three of his men with him, while you and myself, along with three of your escorts make an appearance before the Politburo and explain what has happened. Four men from each side make an appearance to the others governing body and convince the others that what happened was an unfortunate misunderstanding, but only that and nothing more. That and the return of the bodies of the two deceased men. These are my terms, do you accept?"

"In the interest of seeing this resolved in a civilized manner, I do."

"Excellent. I must admit that I am cautiously optimistic about this endeavor that we are undertaking. Hopefully we can resolve any future disputes like this, albeit without the loss of life beforehand."

"That is my hope as well. There is another of my group who would like to meet with you though General."

"Oh? Who would that be?"

"Her name is Pina Co Lada, a Princess of the Empire and leader of an order of knights. I believe she wishes to discuss peace terms with you. Did something I say displease you?" asked Sugawara, noting the look of displeasure on Alexandrov's face.

"No. Just that I do not particularly like nobility, but this is not the place to discuss that. Now that our business is concluded, I suggest that we turn our conversation to lighter topics of discussion. I would also like to invite you to dine with me tonight."

"I would find it a great pleasure to do so General."

xxx

Ianthe spoke many language, four in fact, but even so her elvish was rusty, though rusty was putting it rather mildly. As such, she caught maybe one word in ten, sometimes far less as the two elvish girls conversed rapidly, giggling like long lost friends sharing a secret joke. This had been going on for the past ten minutes and Ianthe was starting to get rather annoyed. She was supposed to be learning Russian, but instead she was now waiting for Luella and this Tuka woman to finish up. They were sitting in an open grassy field used by the Soviet's for physical training and there were a couple of Soviet Soldiers watching them. Nothing too conspicuous, but they were obviously watching them.

"So no one teaches you how to play instruments or do anything in your village?" asked Luella amazed.

"No, we believe that learning how to do something on your own lets everyone experience it in a different way. If everyone did everything the same where would be the creativity in that?"

"I never thought about it like that before. It must take a long time to learn how to do things if no one teaches you though. Isn't that frustrating?"

"At times, but it's more about the journey than the destination. There were times I wanted to toss that harp as far as I could, but I learned patience and in time I became skilled enough to perform in front of others. Do you play any instruments Luella?"

"Well, not really well. I do like singing though and people have told me that I'm good at it. Also, I guess, well, I'm really good at magic," mumbled Luella blushing and playing with her hair.

"Really? I do spirit magic mostly, what kinds of magic to you know?"

"Well, I do a bit of healing magic I guess, and um, other kinds."

"What other kinds?" asked Tuka, pressing the issue.

"Well, everything from spirit for elemental magic. Tiranniel, our village sage took me out one time for trials to see what my proficiency was. She told me to use as much power as I could and try to grow a tree. It's something that everyone does, most people just grow a small bush or something, but I did...more."

"More?"

"Well, I don't know if I should be talking about this, I told Tiranniel that I wouldn't really talk about it. But I guess I can tell you that I was different when I was born, marked by magic I some of my kin have told me."

"You mean your purple eyes?"

"Yeah. They're a little strange to look at aren't they?"

"No, I think that they're beautiful, and you are too."

"Oh, we-well thank you Tuka, I-I think you're beautiful too," stammered the petite elf in reply, blushing quickly at the compliment.

"You're so cute," giggled Tuka, idly playing with a lock of Luella's hair. This was enough to make Ianthe take notice and she raised a questioning eyebrow at what was happening in front of her.

"Oh, well, I don't know about," mumbled Luella turning redder. "Oh, um, by the way. I heard that you might want to live with me and my village since, well, you know. We would be happy to have you and we'd treat you like family and there's a spare house for you to move in to."

"Move in with your village? Well that does sound nice, but I can't leave my father all alone back at Alnus. I swear, I don't know where he goes half the time, but he's almost never around. I can never find him when I need him," said Tuka smiling cheerfully.

"Your father survived? Oh that is wonderful news! You both must come and live with us. Our kin are always welcome in the Village Hidden in the Glade. I had feared the worst when they said you were the only survivor."

"The only...survivor? No, my dad is alive too."

"I know and that's what's so great about it! I know you don't have to say yes right away, but if you and your dad would like to, you can come and live with me if you don't want to move in an empty house. I know that having your own space is nice, but I've always wanted a housemate since I moved out of my parents house."

"Well I'd have to talk to my dad first, but I would love to get to know you better and I'm sure that he'd say yes."

"I hope he does. You know, I admire you Tuka. Going through what you did and being like you are after, I don't think that I could hold myself together like that. I think that I would fall apart honestly, I just can't imagine having to go through that. It actually scares me to have to even think about something like that happening. I hope I'm not being insensitive or bringing up something painful by saying that."

"No, it's alright, honestly I never thought about having to go through it either. My dad and me have always been really close and he's really helped me through everything. Without him, I might have gone insane."

xxx

"Now I would like to ask before we begin, would you like any refreshments? Something to drink perhaps?"

"No General, I am fine thank you," said Pina studying the man who commanded the Red Army as they were called.

He was a man entering his later years, yet he still appeared fit and strong with a scar running along the side of head telling of experience in combat. He appeared to be humble in his dress like the Japanese, forgoing expensive furs and jewelry for plain clothing with ribbons upon his uniform. Functionality over pomp. His boots were polished to a mirror shine however, glassy black and the General's hands were not soft like those of some Imperial generals which bespoke of a man who was willing to do things with his own two hands.

Pina herself had changed into a formal toga with one shoulder strap and tiara, presenting herself before the man as she would before the Imperial senate or the Emperor. Bozes has not been allowed into the meeting, in fact it was just Pina, the General, and an interpreter in the room, with a large and very detailed map of the Empire and surrounding continent on the wall to the side of the General's desk. The farther from Mt. Rubicon that the map got though the less detailed it became.

"Very well, but I'll have my tea. I hope you don't mind. Now Princess, Citizen Sugawara said that you are fairly high ranking in the Empire, a claimant to the throne correct? Daughter of the Emperor?"

"Yes, I am Princess Pina Co Lada, daughter of Emperor Molt and commander of the Rose Order of Knights," said Pina, leaving out the part about being the daughter of a concubine.

The elf it seemed was very quick in translation, allowing Pina and Colonel General Alexandrov to converse almost like they were talking to each other and not through an interpreter.

"I see. Now as you know a state of war exists between the CCCP and your Empire, a war in which you started. As such you are an enemy political leader. A diplomat, but still an enemy. However, we have certain rules and courtesies that we afford to diplomats to allow for communication in times such as these. As such while you are here you will be given every courtesy and every privilege that we afford to all such diplomats. You will not be harmed, you will not be harassed, though we will keep you from documenting the layout of our camp and more sensitive areas. When our business is complete you will be allowed to return unmolested back to your point of origin. This is how a civilized nation conducts itself even when conducting rather uncivilized actions such as war. Would you not agree?"

"Yes I would, and I would like to thank you again for extending this invitation to me and my retainer. I find it regrettable that we have to meet under such circumstances and it is my hope that we can come to some sort of mutually beneficial agreement."

"As do I, though I can not help but wonder as to what you are inferring. Are you offering me a peace treaty, or merely trying to strike a bargain with me yourself?" asked Alexandrov, raising an eyebrow. "I do hope you will forgive my rather blunt nature Princess, it comes from being a military man."

There was something about the way that the General said Princess. As if the word were a bitter fruit or a rotten mean that he was forcing himself to ingest, yet hating every moment of doing so. There was also a firmness to his jaw, like he was speaking to someone that he really did not care for, but was doing so, because it was expected of him. Pina carried on as if she hadn't noticed though.

"No, I quite enjoy the frankness and I hope that such straightforwardness will see this meeting bear fruit. To answer your previous question, the answer is yes. It is my hope that a peace can be reached between the CCCP and the Empire. The incident involving your nation was not the intended result that we desired to achieve. It was a mistake by brash legates trying to make a name for themselves and conducted an unauthorized invasion, but because of the standing of their families it led to a formal declaration of war between our two peoples. It is my opinion that continuing such an ill advised conflict harms both of our great nations and is not in either of our interests to continue it. We have more that we can gain from working together and moving forward as friends rather than fighting each other in a pointless war. That we could be much better as friends rather than enemies. This is what I believe."

"You are a well spoken young lady and I find I must agree with what you have said. I too desire for the fighting to come to an end on favorable terms. For there to be peace, I'm afraid that there would have to be much in the way of reparations," said Alexandrov, stroking his chin as if in contemplation. "You see, when your forces went through the Gate they murdered nearly a thousand Soviet citizens and injured many more in an a callous and despicable act. Such a thing is not merely forgotten by the peoples of the Union, nor is it forgiven easily. To do so would be political suicide for my government, as well as hard to justify the resources spent for such little result. Then there is the matter of the funds expended in the defense of our Union. It is something of a substantial amount. You do understand the costs of running and maintaining an army correct?"

"I am sure that something could be paid for the peace between our two peoples," said Pina grasping onto the General's willingness to negotiate a peace. "I would have to report back to the Emperor of course, but I'm sure that such a thing would not be out of the question. A gesture of good will on your part would go a long way to securing such an agreement if I may be so bold as to say so."

"You may. What would be this gesture?"

"A reduction in the amount of your forces in the Empire. You have many thousands of men here and great many weapons. Surely if you were to reduce the amount you would signal a willingness to negotiate a peace. A sincerity that would go a long way to appeasing both the Emperor and the senate. It would be taken as an olive branch being extended in friendship. It would convince many in the senate of the sincerity of your desire."

"Something of that sort certainly isn't outside the bounds of imagination," said Alexandrov sipping on his tea. "What would you propose?"

"Well, I am here in a limited capacity, but I believe reducing your force by a third and sending a delegation of your own to return to the capital with me would do much to mend the wounds created by this conflict and allow cooler heads to convene. Unarmed of course," added Pina.

"I see," said Alexandrov finishing his tea. "Excuse me for a moment, I am going to get another cup," said Alexandrov rising.

"Of course," said Pina.

"You know, I do like you Princess," said Alexandrov pouring more tea into his cup from a small pot. "You seem well educated and you seem to deeply care for your Empire. I admire loyalty and conviction in a person and I find your initiative to start diplomatic proceedings a testament to your desire to see this conflict ended. All the while risking your personal safety by going into the heart of an enemy's camp when you know nothing about them is a positive reflection upon your character. It is not something that I would have expected from a Princess of the aristocracy. I respect that."

"Thank you General, you yourself seem like an honorable man with virtuous intentions, one willing to put aside grievances and think with a calm head. This speaks well of you and your government as well," replied Pina making Alexandrov chuckle.

"Oh I wouldn't go that far princess, I'm a soldier and as such I've made killing my profession, one in which I like to believe I have gotten quite good at. However I do like to think of myself as a pragmatic man, a peaceful man. I do not believe in fighting any more than I have to fight. Killing no more than I need to kill. If Moscow were to so order it I would abandon this base tomorrow if they so desired. I have no hatred for you or your Empire, I merely do as I am ordered."

"As all good soldiers must, even if they find what they do distasteful. In this regard you are no different than the legates of the Empire and I say that with the highest praise. I'm sure that you've made Moscow very pleased and your desire for peace and as for my own senate I am sure will be happy to know that you are of such a mind."

"Oh they most certainly do agree with how I intend to achieve peace," said Alexandrov sipping on his tea, leaning against his desk and facing the princess.

"I can't tell you how happy I am to hear you say that General," said Pina, breathing a sigh of relief. "I hope at a later point in time we can negotiate for the return of any captives you have captured from the ill advised foray into your territory. One day I hope that we can look back upon this like the misunderstanding that it was. Do I have your permission to relay what you have said to the Emperor and senate?"

"Of course, I want everything I say in here to be heard by your government exactly as I have said it, but I haven't quite finished saying my piece. There is only really one demand that Moscow wants in exchange for peace. Once that condition is met, hostilities will cease immediately and you will have nothing more to fear from the CCCP."

"Of course, name it," said Pina, elated at the way the meeting was going. This was going much better than expected, better than her wildest imaginings even. She had been prepared to offer a great many things to the man even. Slaves, land, titles, bribes really, but now she was glad she had not done that. He seemed like a man who would have been grievously offended at such an offer.

"Well the only thing that Moscow really wants is your unconditional surrender and submission to the CCCP. Anything less, well, there's really no point in discussing anything else," said Alexandrov calmly sipping on his tea.

"But General, you said that you desired peace!" exclaimed Pina, a sick ball of icy dread forming in her stomach.

"Oh I do and I've always gotten peace. You see, my Union isn't unaccustomed to being invaded by imperialist warmongers. We have a long history of people who view us as inferior, or backwards, trying to conquer and kill us. Take our land and inheritance for their own. In some cases eradicate us entirely for being 'subhuman' in their words. In every event we have always managed to make peace through the utter defeat and submission of our enemies. I said that I am rather blunt when I speak so I'm not going to sweeten this in any way for you Princess. For peace we demand unconditional surrender, secession of land, access to resources, and whatever else my government may deem that they so desire. Oh, and most definitely an end to your practice of slavery and Feudal system of governance."

"B-but the senate, the Emperor will never accept an unconditional surrender, it can't be done! They will raise another army, a greater one that before! General, my lord surely you wish for such wanton death and violence?"

"Princess, please, never call me a lord again, and no I don't want more bloodshed. I do sincerely wish for this fighting to come to an end, I abhor needless killing and death. Honestly sometimes I find it despicable, but that doesn't mean I won't soak the ground red regardless of my feelings if you stand before me in defiance. There are reasons that Moscow will never negotiate with you, ideological ones that I don't have the time or will to explain to you at present, but also practical ones that I will in fact explain to you. Do you know how many men we lost repelling your army of mercenaries and auxiliaries?"

"No," said Pina, her voice affecting the same emptiness that she felt inside, feeling numb.

"Not a single one. In fact your army of over 150 000 strong never got within half a kilometer of our outermost defenses. We obliterated it in matter of due course. It was _nothing_ to us. Less that that, it was target practice. As such, we have no reason to negotiate other than from a position of absolute strength. You are not our equals and I will not pretend you are. Then there is how your Empire behaves. It appears expansionist and aggressive, conquering weaker states and territories, incorporating them into the Empire or making them tributaries. Enslaving entire races and peoples, depriving them of their freedoms and basic human dignity. I find this state of affairs intolerable as does the rest of the proletariat. Do you deny this?"

"No, I do not, but I must also add to that the fact that the Empire engages in preemptive wars to eliminate any threats to it. We have been invaded by barbarians before, are still raided by them in the farthest reaches of our holdings. They kill the men that they don't take as slaves, burn the buildings, rape the women, and commit terrible horrors on the children. Because of this we have learned that if we wish to live in peace we must first attack those who could harm us before they have the chance to do the same to us. In doing so we build roads, schools, aqueducts and bring medicine to those who before our legions marched had none of that. The Empire is a beacon of hope and progress in this land. We bring prosperity and knowledge to those we bring into our domain. Surely you must understand this?"

"Of course I understand your reasoning Princess, it's sound for the level of advancement of your civilization. But now let me tell you this. You are primitive compared to us. Barbarians in the eyes of our people for your massacre in Kiev. Evil in your system of governance. A threat to the safety of our people, albeit a relatively minor one. Using your same logic, could I not wage a war until I had entirely conquered the Empire and its people, disposing of its nobility that I and my government see as infectious? I believe I delve into the realm of ideology on this explanation, but the Red Army was founded with the desire to free the Russian people from bourgeoisie capitalists and those whom presumed to be our lords. From people who treated us no better than chattel to be sent to die on a whim by those who cared nothing for our plight. We freed ourselves so that we could end the suffering of our people that had been brought upon us by uncaring nobles and in doing so create a better life for ourselves. Which I might add we successfully did. So now when another nation, one which so resembles the Tsar who so mistreated us attacks us, we aren't so inclined to be forgiving."

"General I understand what you are saying and the comparison is easy to make at first glance given your position, but it is out of context. I admit that I do not fully understand why you despise the Empire and the Emperor so, but please allow me to explain our actions. Had we known the extent of the civility of your nation, we would have used words rather than swords to greet you. We are used to tribal barbarians who know nothing but violence and debauchery in the new lands we discover. Ones who would rather sacrifice our people to their gods than greet us in friendship. To survive we have had to become barbaric as you would say in some ways, but that is only to protect the inner core of our Empire which is good. The Empire is just, it provides services, government, and protection to the people under its domain. It is not perfect, I freely admit that, but it is what it has to be to survive what is placed around it. If we had cast down our arms and embraced solely culture and learning, we would not last out the year. If we stopped sending our legions into tribal lands, they would keep raiding us, eventually growing bold enough to launch an invasion in earnest. We made a mistake, one in which I implore you to allow me to correct. Anything that is within my power to grant you for even the opportunity to do so I will gladly give. Even if the price is my own body."

"Princess Pina, I understand that you are passionate about this, but please don't lower yourself to such a degree. I respect you too much for that and you should respect yourself more than that as well."

"I do respect myself General, but I love the Empire more. I would do anything for it, endure anything for it. Please, I beg you General Alexandrov of the Red Army, beg you upon my knees, end this war. Show yourself magnanimous in victory and allow the Empire to remain whole. We will give you land and territory, money and titles, but we can not agree to that which you ask. My father will never agree to it," said Pina leaving her chair and sinking to her knees before Alexandrov, head bowed in subservience. "I beg you for mercy General."

"You ask for a mercy I can not give Princess. There will be no peace between us, only war. I see very little that will change that."

"General, please reconsider," implored Pina.

"I can not. Now I am afraid that unless you are willing to offer an unconditional surrender, there is nothing else that we have to discuss. Take care Princess."

Xxx

"I would like an apple."

"I would like an apple," repeated Ianthe slowly, forcing the foreign words and vowels off the end of her tongue like they were digging in their heels and doing all they could to thwart any attempts to be spoken properly.

"Good, you're doing really well Ianthe," said Luella encouragingly, the elf having been nothing but supportive throughout the whole session.

"Yeah, but with a terrible accent and I _know_ I'm not going to remember all of these words tomorrow," grumbled Ianthe.

"I'm sure that you'll do better than you think. It's not a race and the more you use it the better you'll get at it. Just start using Russian words when you can and I'm sure you'll learn it in no time. Besides, you're really smart so I know that you can do it."

"Thanks. If nothing else your encouragement if appreciated, though your faith may be misplaced."

Ianthe and Luella were on a grassy field kept undeveloped within Camp Zhukov for sports and recreation. Undeveloped, but the grass cut to a uniform length and unnaturally square, barren of bushes or trees.

Luella was dressed again in the mottled clothing of the Soviets, while Ianthe was in her black drake skin clothing, her form fitting shirt lacking sleeves and showing off muscles earned through hours of rigorous training, currently being put to use to keep her head off the grassy turf.

"I don't think it's misplaced, I'm sure that you'll learn it in no time. By the way, have you had this stuff called chocolate?" asked the elf offering a brown square to Ianthe.

"No, I haven't," admitted the mercenary, sitting up and taking the proffered chocolate.

"Do you like it?"

"It's really sweet," answered Ianthe, moving the chocolate block around like it was a lemon slice. "Too sweet for me I think."

"Well I guess it's not for everyone," said Luella, watching Ianthe seemingly struggle with the chocolate square, before finally eating it with a grimace.

"So when will the Lieutenant be heading out on another mission? My sword arm is starting to get flabby."

"Tomorrow last I heard."

"Really? That's excellent news," said Ianthe, eyes lighting up with excitement. "I mean my new equipment isn't ready yet, but I have a steel longsword as well as several lances and a bow so I won't be useless. Oh, and I do have a mail shirt that I can wear. Tell me, what time does he wish us to rise at?"

"Well...we're not going," said Luella with a nervous smile.

"What?" deadpanned Ianthe.

"Yeah, it's just going to be him and a few of his men along with the Japanese. Um, Ianthe?" asked Luella noticing the working jaw of the mercenary like she was going to chew through her own cheek.

"That duuuuumb, fuck!" vented the mercenary pounding the turf at their feet. "I almost get murdered by a gods damned apostle saving him and he wants to go _back?_ I should shake his head to see if anything rattles inside!"

"Ianthe, you need to calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down! Not now, not when my liege's life is on the line."

"Here have some chocolate."

"I don't want any damned chocolate, I want to strangle my liege!" fumed Ianthe, hands clenched in front of her like she was grasping a certain officer's throat. "I swear by the gods he's trying to get himself killed!"

"But it will be alright, he's been promised immunity by treaty. They can't harm him."

"Is that true?" asked Ianthe, slowly lowering her hands after pondering for a moment.

"Yes. They won't harm him and he and his men will be armed. They will be safe."

"That is reassuring, but I have to be able to go with them. Luella, I understand that you do not normally do these sorts of things, but do you know who I would have to bribe to get in with the Lieutenant's delegation?"

"What?!" squeaked Luella, her mouth agape. "Y-you can't do that. The Red Army-the General himself authorized this. You can't even talk like that. If you try to give a Soviet soldier money in exchange for services, both you and him would be in serious trouble for doing that. You'd get kicked out at the very least, and, well, I'd miss you."

"I would miss you as well," said Ianthe, once again taken off guard by Luella's frank admission. "But the fact remains that I have to be with the Lieutenant."

"I know that you have to be his sword and shield, but don't you have to obey your lord too? I mean you can just wait here until he gets back if that's what he want right? I mean he has to obey his superiors too."

"Little elf you have a strange way of calming down you know that?"

"Well I was always told that I was good with kids, all it takes is a little patience and understanding."

"Did you-nevermind," said Ianthe, cutting herself off. Coming from anyone else she would have taken it as a jab at her personally, but from the elf she wasn't going to think too much into it. "Luella, what would you do if you couldn't go home?"

"But I can, it's right over there," said the elf simply, pointing into the distant forest.

"Okay, but what if you couldn't?"

"Why wouldn't I be able too? It's not very far-"

"Dammit Luella, pretend that you can't!"

"O...kay."

"Sorry. But what would you do if you couldn't go home?"

"Well...I suppose I would keep working for the Soviets. I would be sad, very sad, but I'd try and move on as best as I could."

"And then if there was a chance that you could go back what would you do for that?"

"Well...I guess I would do anything," said the elf quietly, playing with the grass. Ianthe understood Luella's feelings on the matter, why she had suddenly become so gloomy. Elves, high elves and wood elves especially were a race unto themselves. They could, and some seemed that they really would, live forever. A day was no more than the blink of an eye to them. A year, perhaps akin to the time one would afford to a daydream. They were, for all intents and purposes, immortal. Yet they were beings that _longed_ for the presence of others, for companionship. That _needed_ it like they needed air to breathe. But who could be their companions, when they remained young forever while everything around them aged and changed? They could watch barren plains grow into a mighty forest, then watch that forest be cut down and turned into a mighty kingdom. Watch its descendants rise and become prosperous and powerful, before falling into ruin and the mighty kingdom turn back again into barren plains. Themselves the only witness that it had ever been there at all.

In a way, the immortality of the elves was a curse as much as a blessing. They were the witnesses of history, but they were solitary witnesses. They were the only permanent thing amongst the shifting sands of time. No matter how much they loved something, no matter how greatly they cherished something, it would eventually be worn away by the ravages of time. The only thing that they had that would last forever, was each other. To be cast away from their kin, unable to return, would be to wander the halls of eternity alone. Ianthe did not wish to upset the elf with the thought, but she had to make her understand.

"Have you ever been to Messalon Luella?"

"No."

"It's an island, a series of them to be exact. It's a trading hub, a meeting place of the entire world. Traders from across the sea bring spices, fabrics, and brightly colored birds the likes of which you've never seen. Their clothes are odd and their customs are both strange and alluring at the same time. The water, it's not just blue, it's a pure blue, the kind you can see right to the bottom in and you can swim in the water all day if you like. The beaches are a fine white sand, soft underfoot that almost massage your feet as you walk. The days are long and warm, but not hot. You may wear whatever you wish and when it rains it never lasts for long and there's a peach tree in every yard. They grow fruit all year round and they grow as big as your fist. Nearly bursting with juice that you may pluck from overhead as you walk. That is my home, it's where I grew up, where my father is and I can't go back there. I'm not allowed back until I can regain my honor. I have- _need_ to be with Volkov everywhere he goes. If he does something important and I'm not there with him, there will be whispers that he either does not trust me enough to go with him, or else I am not skilled enough, or valuable enough to be taken along."

"But those would just be rumors," protested Luella.

"Yes, they would, but rumors that would ruin any chance I have of returning. I am kenos, I am void. My word means nothing right now, nothing to nobody. Only my actions can save me, only my actions can set me free. I _need_ to be with the Lieutenant and quell any doubts about my honor. I need to have something that proves to me that I'm still worth something."

"Well, there might be one way," said Luella pursing her lips in thought. "I could see if I would be allowed to go. If I could, then I would be able to convince them to let you come with me. After all, anytime a Wood Elf goes to a distant land they always hire a bodyguard. It's a cultural thing, and you would be that bodyguard."

"That's Great!" exclaimed Ianthe, causing the petite elf to let out a yelp of surprise as the silver haired mercenary embraced her in a hug. "The gods are on my side this day, only chance would have such a custom in place! With every day that passes I owe you a greater debt teacher, how can I ever repay you?"

"Oh, well, you don't really have to do anything for me. I'm just happy to help a friend," mumbled Luella, blushing heavily.

"As you wish teacher, but I do wonder where does that custom come from? I would have never imagined such a tradition from the Wood Elves."

"Well, because there isn't one, but they don't know that." A shy smile made its way onto Luella's face as she said that.

AN: Reading about the Roman Empire I found it interesting to note that they never saw themselves as the aggressor in any of their wars. They always saw what they were doing as protecting themselves from barbarians or removing a threat to themselves before it could fully manifest itself. So I decided that a similar point of view would be logical for the Empire to explain why they act like they do.  
Also I had this sitting at 12k words on my computer for a month, but I could never get it to fit as I wanted it too, so I just cut a bunch of stuff out to make it move along faster instead of making another chapter of them going back to Alnus. Also Skyrim was my cocaine for a couple of weeks.


	8. Chapter 8

"Hello Vlad, sorry I didn't come to see you sooner, but you know how the Army is. All the same I'm sorry for missing the service. I heard it was nice."

Alexandrov was dressed in his General's uniform, bundled against the cold and boots crunching into the snow that blanketed the graveyard in white. The sky was overcast gray and foreboding. A storm was coming, that much certain.

Without looking or needing to read them, Alexandrov knew many of the names of those buried here. They had been his friends, his comrades, and he had ordered many of them to their deaths. Stretching in every direction as far as the eye could see were row upon row of graves belonging to those who had made the ultimate sacrifice in defense of the Motherland. Fighting the fascists had taken everything they had been willing to give and more. It had been a war that it didn't matter who was just for no one was. Who was good for no one was and everything was cast in shades of gray. All that had mattered in that war was winning. All that had mattered was surviving.

It had been too long since he'd last been here, too long since he'd last visited his old friends and their final resting places.

"You'll be glad to know that the camp is running smoothly and your idea for diverting water from the mountain has made sanitation a non issue. I promoted Orlov to serve as my aide. You were right about him, he's capable, but a little too rigid."

Alexandrov took a breath to steady himself before continuing. He took off one of his gloves and put the bare hand on the cold stone of the grave marker. Tracing his hand across the stone and engraved letters.

"I realize that I need you more than ever now Vlad. You were my moral compass, my dependable rock. No matter what happened to us you were always the one who held firm, the one who gave me the courage to do what I needed to do. I held firm to my beliefs Vlad and I am trying to stay on that pedestal you put me upon. I sent the 15th directorate away when they tried to claim the orcs. God only knows what they were planning on doing to them. We also liberated that mine we were talking about. We're getting the doctors and medical equipment ready to process them. That was a good thing we did, it was an honorable thing. Something to be proud of, truly proud of."

Alexandrov took a shaky breath, straightening his General's cap and placed a vodka bottle in front of his friend's grave. Settling it with a clink against the grave marker.

"Neither of us really cared too much for flowers so I thought that you would like this better. I don't know if dead men can get drunk but it might be something fun to figure out huh? Vlad," said Alexandrov hesitantly, as if worried to commit to what he was about to say.

"A storm is coming, one that I don''t think I can do anything to prevent. R331, the Mythril. It's made the Red Army and the Politburo go completely insane. I realize now how far removed I've been these past few months while in the Special Region. There is no longer any posturing, no bluff of the threat of military might. Plans are being drawn up, divisions brought to readiness, and supplies requisitioned. It's slow, almost unnoticeable, but it's happening. The Generals all seem to think that we can coat our tanks and planes in a Mythril based paint and as soon as we do we can rush across the fields of Europe and achieve victory. That we can cross the Atlantic and invade America. Worse than that they've managed to convince much of the Politburo of the same thing. Our wounds from the last war have just barely healed and they wish to rip them open again. I believe that if we begin this endeavor it will not just be the end of the Soviet Union, but mankind as a whole. We will destroy ourselves in nuclear fire in a war that does not make any sense to fight. They've grown as corrupt and vile as the Czar we overthrew. The Politburo I realize now, has no intention of ever relinquishing control of the government to the people like was promised. There will always be a threat, always be a reason for them to hold absolute power. Some enemy to necessitate their existence."

"They've forgotten their roots, the roots of our revolution. They no longer look at the faces of the men they will ask to kill or die. They would not see them even if they did care to look. All they see are numbers, and too many of them think like Stalin did. They don't think of the men who will never have a wife. Of the Children who will never see their father come home. Of the mothers who will send their sons off to war only for them to never return. How our nation will be a nation of ghosts once again. Filled with empty tables and vacant streets. All they see are rifles. Cheap, expendable rifles with no value other than what they can attain with them. I'm scared Vlad, I'm scared and I don't know what to do. I don't know who to trust."

Alexandrov's vision blurred and he realized that he was crying. The hot droplets making dimples in the snow at his feet. He wiped at them roughly.

"I don't know what I'm going to do yet Vlad, I don't know if there's anything I can do. Or if I should do anything at all. I still have some old friends within the system. Men we served with in the Great Patriotic War. Men of virtue who are just as appalled at the growing corruption within our Union as I am. Yet if I begin something I will be committed and I don't know if I would be saving the Union or dooming it by taking action. I miss you most of all at times like this Vlad. You bastard. Why did you have to go and die?" Alexandrov let out a weary sigh, tracing the scar running the length of his head as he often did when troubled.

"Drink up Vlad, I'll stop by before I leave for the Special Region again. I've also taken to carrying your pistol, I hope you don't mind. It was always a dependable piece. I will see you again soon old friend."

Alexandrov left to his waiting motorcade and bodyguards. He had to speak to the Politburo committee later today and he didn't want to be late. He had met them several times these past few days with Mr. Sugawara, but they always seemed to have new questions for him or the diplomat. If nothing else though, there was still one war he could prevent.

xxx

 _Eight Years Ago, Siege of Borgia_

The air was filled with the frenzied chorus of shouting men, braying beasts, and roaring flames eating greedily at thick timbers of wood. Smoke billowing all around in thick greasy columns from the gatehouse, choking the throat and stinging the eyes. The smell clogging and all consuming, overcoming even that of blood, steel, and sweat that always seemed to permeate a battlefield. Overcoming even the smell of rotting corpses and untreated wounds. The only thing it would not overcome was the smell of burning human flesh.

Arrows and bolts from bows and crossbows whistled angrily through the air, impacting like meteorites on the barricades erected to protect the besieging Messalonians. After every volley, taunts would rise up from the besiegers, raucous cries disparaging everything from the mothers of the defenders to their questionable sexual activities with their beasts of burden.

Messalon is famous for two things in warfare, their pikes, and their dragons. They had brought both in great numbers to this fight. Brightly clothed pikemen with wide pantaloons and brightly polished steel curiass chestplates and helms were the loudest of all. The bravest of them emerging from cover to taunt the archers, offering them a more tempting shot before rushing back into cover.

Messalonians didn't use peasant levies to fight, no, they didn't do things so base as that. They fielded professional soldiery, much like the Empire, but with a higher focus on individual skill instead of a replaceable gear in a military machine. There was a saying in the archipelago, you picked up a net or you picked up a sword. For many, the battlefield was far more alluring than the life of a fisherman and so many young Messalonians took up the art of swordsmanship and how to properly handle a pike. Ianthe was one such youth.

It wasn't unheard of for a woman to be within a Messalon mercenary company, indeed, some stories told of warrior maidens who had led lives of martial glory and conquest, but those were few and far between. Women by and large are smaller and weaker than their male counterparts giving distinct disadvantages on a battlefield where strength and reach can be determining factors in a fight. Another reason for the lack of women fighters is for a much darker reason. If a female soldier is captured on the field of battle, her position is much more perilous than that of her peers. Mercenaries, soldiers in general are not the most gentle souls and the sacking of cities should give some indication what men living under constant fear of death and withstanding the abuses of military discipline will do when given free reign. Were a sword maiden to be captured alive, she would not remain that way long. Perhaps she would survive for a time, but a body can only endure so much. After being passed between, twenty, fifty, maybe even a hundred men, the flesh can simply take no more, not to speak of the mind.

Ianthe however was large for a woman, standing at an even six feet tall and gifted with a strong physique, she could easily pass for a man of similar age and being a woman of 14 years it was time to test her prowess in battle. She was training to become a draconian knight, but none had chosen her yet and so she was being blooded in battle on foot. She was aware of the risks of battle and as such had a dirk on her belt not for the enemy, but her own throat should the need arise.

Ianthe joined in the chorus of cries rather halfheartedly, just as loud as any other, but feeling hollow and empty as she did it, the taste of metal filling her mouth as her pulse quickened, overpowering even the taste of smoke. She gripped her longsword and shield in a death grip of white knuckles, feeling as if her steel gauntlets would tear asunder from the sheer pressure she was exerting on them.

Her full helm obscured her features and for that she was grateful. She didn't wish for her comrades to see her fear. These were the elite of the _elite_ when it came to Messalonian pike regiments. They were the Draghi Artigli, or Dragons Claws. Veterans to a man, dressing in fine silks or cotton underneath their armor, like a flock of tropical birds. Many sporting waxed curling mustaches and well oiled and combed hair, as if a battlefield was a ball that they had to look their best upon. Their contempt for death and their casual bravery was as infectious as it was foreign to Ianthe. How were they so fearless?

An arrow penetrated halfway through the barricade that Ianthe was hiding behind, causing her heart to skip a beat. Her armor suddenly feeling like it was made of cloth rather than steel, she swallowed heavily and readjusted her grip on her blade. She would not shame her father, Lord of the Skyraiders, lowering himself to fight on foot alongside her in her first engagement. It was an honor not lost on her and she swore she would not disappoint him.

With a great groaning sigh, the flaming gatehouse gave way with a collapse of masonry and woodwork, taking a few unfortunate souls down screaming with it into the rubble. It send a great pall of smoke into the air as the collapse smothered most of the flames engulfing the debris. A great cheer went up from the Messalonians, and an equally great moan from the defenders.

"FORM UP! PIKES AT THE READY! STEP LIVELY NOW! DAMN THE ARROWS, FORM UP!"

The cries repeated up and down the lines and quickly the Messalonians formed up, not in a long line, but like a blade, pointed and held tightly like a fist, pennants and glistening steel pike heads held up to the heavens. Ianthe and the others armed with swords, axes, maces, and various other weapons that weren't pikes forming up in the middle so as best to join the melee if the pikes failed to keep the enemy at bay or their charge failed.

Even with the whistling of arrows, it was as if a hush fell over the battlefield, the discipline of the pike regiments now taking over. Each man like a statue, quiet, unflinching, unfaltering despite the rain of arrows while lessened, still whistling down at them. The few faces of the archers atop the rough cut gray stone walls barely appearing for more than a few moments to fire off a poorly aimed shot before ducking down again, trying to avoid the return fire of well drilled crossbow fire.

"PRESENT ARMS!"

A thousand pikes were lowered in unison, all pointed forwards, yet not a sound was made besides the rustle of wood of fabric and the clink of wood on steel.

"CHARGE!"

Like a wave, three thousand voices swelled and rose to a deafening roar, primal and angry. Three thousand pairs of feet propelled three thousand Messalonians in a wave of humanity and steel, the front ranks never faltering even as they charged over the burning remains of the gatehouse, pikes held firm. It was an unreal experience and everything adopted an almost glossy look, almost too real and Ianthe could scarce believe that she was really doing it, charging into her first battle. Her gaze fixed firmly on the glistening armor plate in front of her face.

Her armor, though she was used to it was heavy, more so as she charged over the still flaming ruins of the gatehouse, the heat feeling as if it was going to cook her inside her armor like a boar upon a spit. She felt clumsy and jittery, like she should turn around and go the other way lest her own treacherous body get her killed, but there was no going back. To retreat now would mean to be hung drawn and quartered. It would mean to discard any shred of honor she had even had claim to, and most of all it would shame her father. So she kept running.

There was a great clash of steel and wood, followed by cries of pain, though Ianthe could see none of it even though she was right in the thick of it. Those behind her pushing her forwards and she and turn pushing those ahead of her forwards. Their momentum slowed only briefly before they picked up speed again, Ianthe nearly sprinting to keep pace.

She nearly tripped over a body, several in fact perforated with stab wounds and one missing half his face, Ianthe had only the briefest of moments to look at it before she was forced to step on and over it and keep running.

The garrison was routing now, running for their lives and the city was burning. Frightening roars sounded overhead at the draconian knights passed overhead. Their mounts picking up and crushing archers in their jaws from rooftops or else loosing torrents of flame and lighting more of the city ablaze. There was no one left to fight them except the viscount and his men hiding in the keep. It was a sack now.

The charge broke apart with different groups spreading across the city, taking what they wanted, burning what they wished, and killing as much as they liked.

Ianthe found herself next to a tavern when she killed her first man.

She should have been paying more attention, but the smoke was making her eye water and everything was so disorientating with the screams coming from all over the city, roaring flames, and the clash of steel. Her very own armored steps rebounding off of the cobbled streets only added to the overwhelming amount of sound. Even so, it almost cost Ianthe her life.

"Ah!" yelped Ianthe as a halberd scraped across the faceplate of her helmet, staggering her and leaving a long scratch in the metal. She turned in time to put her triangle shield in the way of the second jab, the point sticking into the wood of her shield before being withdrawn.

The halberdier was dressed in the green and gold livery of the viscount, with a cheap iron kettle helmet on his head. His face was transformed into a bestial snarl as he brought his halberd up, before swinging the axehead of it down onto Ianthe.

Ianthe blocked with her shield again, but the heavy axehead split through the soft wood, severing the strap that bound it to her arm. It was stuck now though.

Seizing the initiative and acting on instinct, Ianthe let go of the shield, and grabbed the haft of the halberd as the man tried to draw it back. Pulling herself forward, blood pounding in her ears, Ianthe let out a loud cry as she drove her longsword forwards. It stuck fast in the man's neck, the steel parting the flesh as though it had never been there, going so far as the lodge in the spine.

The man's eyes were wide in disbelief, like two brown saucers as blood welled first out around the Messalonian steel, then out of his mouth. He made sounds, gurgling noises like someone trying not to cough and he fell to the ground, hands going to his throat as with a sucking of meat the sword was withdrawn.

Ianthe was breathing hard, every muscle in her body twitching with pent up energy as tremors seemed to rock her body. Everything was bright and glossy around her, every sound crystal clear despite the din of the dying city around her. How the blood, so bright a red as to seem like a dye poured from the dying man at her feet. The man she had killed. She stared at him in his last moments as though she was in a trance. It was with this clarity that she heard the footsteps, quick and purposeful coming up behind her.

Without even thinking, Ianthe gripped her longsword in both hands and with a cry of mindless fury brought her blade around in a savage arc with the speed of a Messalonian swordsman. The blade parted flesh and cloth like butter. Only it wasn't a soldier.

It was only after her strike was complete that Ianthe saw just who she had laid low. It was a peasant girl, not much older than Ianthe herself, but very much pregnant. The length of steel in her hand though had split her open like an overripe fruit and the innards that spilled from her belly were not entirely her own, as a pink, yet unborn baby slid out from the gash like some obscene hallucination.

The woman's mouth worked, but no sound emerged. Her green eyes locked with Ianthe's and as if though she were a Gorgon that was turning her to stone, Ianthe could not look away. Accusing they didn't even seem to blink as they bored like emerald coals into her soul.

"I-I'm sorry, I-I didn't know," sputtered Ianthe as horror and revulsion filled her. Her stomach twisting and tying itself into knots. Her heart pounding so loud in her ears that all she heard was ringing. The blade in her hand slick with blood gleamed balefully in the light of the sun as if broke through the covering of smoke and Ianthe dropped it like it was a snake about to bite her. She found she couldn't catch her breath.

"Argh! Don't touch me!" shrieked Ianthe as the woman she had cut down reached out and grabbed at her ankle. Ianthe fell and in her haste to get away and began crawling backwards from the woman.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" The words left her mouth in a rush without having to even think about them and soon Ianthe was sprinting armor and all past the woman and towards the city gate. She was sobbing as she ran, head down and running without looking where she was going.

It wasn't much surprise when she ran into something, or rather someone. It felt like she had hit a castle wall and with a clang of steel on steel she fell backwards onto her rear.

"What are you running from girl?"

The voice was a deep baritone of power, radiating authority and dominance. The kind of voice that cowed lesser men into submission and demanded all but the most hushed of silence when it sounded. It was her father, Acamus. Lord of the Skyraiders Company and Grand Mayor of the great city Plutus. He hauled up her armor clad form like another man might a pail of water. His chilling blue eyes peering out from the depths of his full helm, the sword in his hand ruddy with blood. His mythril armor gleaming in the noonday sun.

"Th-there was a woman father. I-I didn't mean-I didn't realize. She was pregnant father-with child! And I, and I," blubbered Ianthe weeping. A blow that made her see stars rocked her head and splashed her vision with streaks of light even with her helmet on almost sprawled her flat, but the strength of her father kept her standing.

"Enough!" Growled her father's voice, radiating the power of the dragon's he tamed and rode into battle. "This is a battlefield, a place for warriors. You will kill here, or you will die here. If you weep for your enemy they will cut you down while you shed tears for their suffering! There is no room for your childish tears here. There is only your comrades to your back and your enemies to your front! Steel yourself girl, or see that you retire to the followers camp to prepare the meals and clean the clothes of real warriors. Do you understand me?"

"Yes father," sobbed Ianthe.

"Where is your sword?"

"I...I dropped it fa-" another blow made Ianthe's knees feel weak and she very nearly fell to the ground.

"If you surrender your weapon you surrender your life! That blade is what stands between you and death. You never leave it behind! Do you want to die child!? Or do you want to live? Come, take me to where you lost your weapon."

"Yes father," sniffled Ianthe, feeling like an ant walking in the shadow of a giant when she walked next to her father. She no longer felt afraid when she was by his side. Her father was the physical expression of power, of martial prowess. When he walked it was with the stride and swagger of a master bladesman, of a man absolutely sure of his own power. Every movement, every motion done with perfect control and assurance. He owned wherever he set his feet for none could take it from him. For he was a Messalonian Blademaster, one of the greatest swordsmen in the known world. Other men were but mere wraiths compared to her father.

To Ianthe's horror the peasant girl was still alive when they returned to the site, her now dead unborn baby laying next to her, still attached by the cord in a pile of blood and viscera. She avoided looking at her and could feel her father's eyes boring into her.

"Retrieve your blade Ianthe."

"Yes father," answered Ianthe obediently, picking up her bloodied blade and cleaning it with a cloth before going to sheathe it.

"What are you doing?" It was not an angry question, or one of reproach, but one that make Ianthe sweat and not just from the heat around them.

"I'm sheathing my sword father."

"So you will leave this woman to suffer before she dies? You struck her down Ianthe, give her a clean death."

"B-but I didn't-"

"Cease your childish protests! This is the result of you actions. Every time you draw your sword, every time you swing it, you must be prepared to kill, else it will be your blood that adorns anothers blade. You must be prepared to deal with the consequences of your actions! Now, finish what you started Ianthe."

"Bu-"

"Now girl!" Her father's voice was like the roar of a dragon and it made Ianthe tremble before its power.

Taking the blade in both hands she held it above the woman still struggling for life, her olive skin taking on the gray complexion of death. Ianthe gripped the blade so hard she was sure the handle would break and then removing all thought from her mind, she brought her blade down with all her weight behind it. The steel sinking through the woman's chest and to the ground below.

The blade stuck fast when she tried to remove it and Ianthe had to put her boot on the woman's chest to free it. She did it without her or her father saying a word.

"Was he also one of yours?" asked her father, gesturing to the halberdier sprawled near the tavern.

"Yes father."

"That was a good kill. Well done. Now follow me, this battle is not yet concluded."

"Yes father."

xxx

Ianthe supposed she should have stared in awe longer at the buildings that stretched into the heavens like greedy fingers of glass and steel, imposing and sterile in their look like lumbering giants and she had been suitably awed and humbled by the sight. Yet, like as in all things physical needs seemed to take precedence over even new and wondrous things that seemed to redefine what man was capable of creating.

Winter had been explained to her, but Ianthe now grudgingly realized that she hadn't fully comprehended what it meant. She had grown up all her life in the Messalonian archipelago. It was always warm there, almost hot as some would describe and as such clothing was generally thin and light, or in some cases nonexistent for those whom felt so inclined. Armor was designed for practicality and mobility, without the abundant layers so common in the Empire to prevent overheating. As such a Messalonain knight was far less armored than many of their counterparts on the Falmart continent.

Cold to Ianthe had always been the time before a rain storm, the coolness of the night and early morning. Perhaps something to wear pants instead of a skirt or toga, but nothing like this. This biting cold that was chilling the steel links of her mail shirt, making it feel as though icy bands were encasing her, even through the fabric of her clothes. She had a slight shiver coursing through her body and could feel her teeth wanting to chatter, something she had heard described, but only ever had happen when she had gone on a high flight with a dragon, without first donning the heavy woolen jacket and cap customary beforehand. Worst of all though, her damnable elvish ears were numbing quickly, the sensitive bound pieces of cartilage and flesh reacting most extremely to the cold.

Ianthe hugged herself against the cold, clutching her thin traveling cloak tighter about herself, noting with vexation that she appeared to be the only one besides the elf Tuka who seemed even remotely bothered by it. The Japanese seemed to have been expecting it, the others from Falmart, much to her embarrassment were much better dressed for it, and if anything the Soviets seemed rather pleased at the temperature. Even the elf Luella who had never known anything other than continual summer with a short and mild cold season, seemed not bothered at all by the chill, clothed as she was in thick, warm garments that Ianthe both envied and begrudged herself for not bringing along with her.

"Cold?"

Ianthe clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from rattling together, before answering her employer.

"Fine Feliks. Fine." Slow and ponderous though her answer was, nevertheless she answered him in his own language. She even managed a smile too, despite the coy smile he wore when asking her that all but demanded a smack upside the head.

After fidgeting uncomfortably for a few moments in the biting cold, she was all but too eager to take a seat on a long carriage with black glass panes and a flat front. It was very glossy, like it had been polished, but that was not the case. The door retracted itself with no one touching it and Ianthe had to force herself not to make a warding gesture against evil spirits and appear a peasant before her lord. It was technology, not magic. So, without further ado she walked up the few short steps and took a seat near the rear.

Blessedly, the inside of the carriage was warm and with a contented sigh she sat in an upholstered seat, thanking whatever gods watched over this land for their small mercies as the biting cold removed itself from her ears.

"Too cold for you eh?"

Despite the temperature, Ianthe's blood turned to ice at the voice. That of a girl entering the cusp of womanhood, but with an undertone of cruelty and the depth only afforded to one of a great many years. She swallowed heavily before answering the apostle standing just in the aisle with her cheshire grin.

"I will survive priestess," answered Ianthe neutrally.

"Maybe, maybe not. You never really know. So tell me, how have you been?"

Without waiting for a reply, the apostle took the vacant seat next to Ianthe and looped an arm around her shoulders, her fingers coming to a rest on her neck. Despite her greater size, Ianthe had never felt more powerless. It was like being pitted against a dragon, the Apostle's fingers resting like steel spikes above her pulse, ever so gently pressing into the side of her neck.

"I'm upset with you right now, did I tell you that?"

"No Priestess."

"Hmm, well from now on you'd do well to remember that, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes Priestess."

"Good, now don't forget," finished Rory, adopting a cheery demeanor, going so far as to wave as she left the seat next to Ianthe, picking another farther up on the carriage.

Ianthe let out a breath that she hadn't known that she'd even been holding in and put a hand on her longsword for the reassurance only well forged steel could give. The Apostle was a being that she couldn't defeat. Something that she couldn't kill, and something she couldn't run from. If Rory Mercury wanted her dead, she would be. It was as simple as that. Ianthe tightened her grip around the handle of the longsword, trying to find a measure of courage from the well worn grip.

Xxx

"Lieutenant Itami, may I ask why we are eating here?" asked Feliks. "I don't mean to complain, but the portions do seem rather...small."

"Yeah I know. With recent cuts to military spending, they've reduced the meal allowance that we get. Even though we're summoned witnesses to the Diet, this is still a business trip so we're limited to 500 yen for a meal. By the way, I'm going to need your receipt."

"Cuts to military spending?" asked Feliks, the very idea of it incomprehensible to him. Where he was from, the military was merely an extension of diplomacy and power. Each new weapons system developed a mark of prestige, every new division raised was more weight behind your words. Each Nuclear missile, clout in the international community.

The were seated at the counter, but closest to the wall and away from the washrooms facing the doorway. Most everyone else was scattered around the restaurant sitting in small groups. Feliks' men all sat together, Tuka and Luella were practically inseparable, and the Imperial Princess and her retainer were off by themselves.

"Yeah, well, not cuts per say, but ever since Trump was elected Japan's been paying full costs for American military forces in Japan. That, and actual cuts to our funding," continued Itami rather glumly.

"Lieutenant, how do you use chopsticks?" asked Vitsin, the medic struggling with the two pieces of wood.

"Like this."

"Oh, thanks Lieutenant," said Vitsin, managing to use the utensils well enough to eat.

"So where did you learn how to speak Japanese anyways?" asked Itami.

"In Japan."

"Aren't you from the Soviet Union?"

"Yes. That doesn't mean that they send kill teams after us when we leave the country. I just had to get proper approval and visas. Generally not many people travel from the USSR to the USA or its allied countries and vice versa. A big reason for that is although they call it a cold war the information war is still very hot. Well, that and the Union doesn't actually issue very many of them anyways."

"So spies then?"

"Spies aplenty."

"Were you spying on Japan then?" Feliks actually laughed at that.

"Spying to learn what? Write kanji? No, it was a cultural exchange. I studied history for a year at Tokyo University. I found Nobunaga rather interesting. Bloodthirsty, but interesting. What do you think of him?"

"Eh, don't really care. Never paid that much attention to history in school. I was more of an otaku than anything. Don't get me wrong I did alright, but it was just memorization and as soon as I wrote the test I dumped all the information. So what do you think of the food?"

"It's alright. Better than army rations anyways, though I must confess to being somewhat of a lush. I do enjoy larger meals and I wouldn't say no to a small shot of vodka. I've never been to a Gyuonoya before though. Although I don't think Ianthe shares my tastes."

Upon hearing her name, the silver haired mercenary looked up quickly from her nearly untouched food, looking inquisitively between Itami and Feliks.

"Yes?"

"We were just wondering if you were liking your food."

"You can speak Common?"

"Well, yeah," said Itami.

"Oh. I must admit that this is a pleasant surprise. I would like to formally introduce myself to you my lord. I am Ianthe, daughter of Acamus and draconian knight of Messalon. It is both a pleasure and a privilege to make your acquaintance sir Itami."

"Oh nice to meet you," said Itami reaching out for a handshake. He realized he'd made a mistake when the silver haired mercenary opened her mouth in shock, then her face twisted in rage. A hard backhand left his head ringing and a stinging pain across his face."

"Ow," protested Itami.

"Do not think me some cheap harlot that you can so casually make advancements upon! I will do more than show you the back of my hand cretin, the next time you attempt an act in the ceremony of betrothal!"

"The ceremony of what?" muttered Itami nursing his jaw.

"Don't-oh, you really don't know," murmured Ianthe, realization dawning on her features and seeing the stares she was getting from around the restaurant. "I may have, um, jumped to conclusions about your intentions. I offer my sincerest apologies. Oh, here," continued Ianthe, wiping rather lamely with a napkin where she had hit him and straightening the collar on his jacket.

"Thanks. How's the food by the way?" asked Itami, rubbing at his still stinging face.

"It is...not to my palette I must confess. Still, I am most grateful for the food."

"Thanks. She doesn't like the food," said Itami, turning back to Feliks.

"She hit you pretty good huh?"

"Yeah."

"She does that," consoled Feliks. "Should've warned you about that."

"Happens," muttered Itami apathetically. "Seems like all that happens to me lately is getting hit by women. So what are you going to tell the Diet when we go tomorrow?"

"The truth would be good I suppose. I doubt it'll win me any favors in there, if anything it'll most likely make them angrier. What about you?"

"Probably the same. Though all things considered I should come off better than you guys will. They're going to really grill you and you're not going to have a lot of friends in there. Especially since you were the one who pulled the trigger."

"The consequences of my actions aren't something I'm afraid to face Itami. I knew full well what could happen to me and I'm not squeamish about it happening. I should do just fine. I guess that second helpings are out of the question then?"

"Not unless you can pay for them yourself. I'm broke at the moment too. All of my money goes to alimony."

"Will they take gold?"

"Ha! Ha, hah, ha!" burst out Itami, spewing out his gyuodan before covering his mouth with his napkin.

"I'm serious. I was issued several one ounce gold coins by the Red Army."

"Wait, for real?"

By way of answering, Feliks took a small leather pouch from the inside of his dress tunic and put it on the counter. Opening it and revealing around 20 gold coins in individual pouches. Itami's jaw dropped.

"My country just increased military spending by 3%.".

 _Thirty minutes later_

"Itami, I sold all of the coins and now I have over four million yen. What can that get us?"

xxx

"I don't really need anything," said Luella rather sheepishly.

"We want to get you something nice though darling. We're going to go to a government hearing and we have to dress our best."

"It's probably expensive," murmured Luella, looking at the racks of clothing spread throughout the store. "I'm not worth the trouble."

"You're worth more than that darling, besides, we want to get you something," coaxed Boris.

"You really don't have to."

"Darling, it's like pulling teeth with you. We're getting you a dress."

"But-whoa!" yelped Luella as the veteran picked the elfin girl up under one of his thick arms and started carrying her towards the racks of dresses, with Luella giggling.

They tried on various dresses and the woman helping them seemed unable to decide who to stare at more, the burly Soviet soldier in full dress uniform with metal teeth, or the short and cheerful elf with purple eyes trying on clothes.

They went through various clothing sets, most of which Luella didn't really like, but tried on anyways. Some of them she could only blush profusely at and politely refuse for how much they revealed. They were made of all different kinds of materials and in many styles that Luella had never seen before. In fact this entire place seemed like something out of fantasy.

The towers of glass and steel that stretched far into the sky, taller than even the mightiest trees seemed like something our of a fairy tale. The buildings looked to fragile to stand and too massive to have been wrought by mortal hands. And the people. It was like all the people of the world had assembled in this city. And the goods. Everywhere they were selling everything imaginable. Food, clothes, goods, and things Luella had no idea how any of them worked, but looked wonderful all the same. The only thing lacking was the forests.

There was no gentle whisper or sigh of the spirits of the forests. Of branches swaying and leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. Everything here was...sterile. The glass and steel was silent, the stone cold and artificial. It was a place full of people who had rejected nature and its trappings, its majesty. The giant and imposing towers like silent coffins to house those within. Luella almost felt sad for the people who had to live in them.

"Have you found anything you like darling?"

"Not yet Boris, but I'm still looking," said Luella, smiling and feigning interest in several different dresses. She wanted to make Boris happy, but there really wasn't anything that she wanted.

"If you're not finding what you're looking for here, we do have more traditional pieces in stock Miss..."

"Luella, of the Village Hidden in the Glade," answered Luella in Japanese to the clerk. She'd studied tirelessly the entire trip to Alnus, asking Volkov endless questions to try and obtain some proficiency in it.

"Right. Well Miss Luella, if you'll follow me this way, you may find what you're looking for."

"Okay," answered Luella following and bringing Boris along with her.

"These are our more formal Kimono's. Now depending on what you're looking for and what your price range is, I'm sure that we can find whatever it is that you're looking for."

Luella barely heard her though, because she was looking at a blue and white kimono with flowers and trees on it. Her eyes going wide in delight. That was the kind of dress she had always imagined that only a princess or an Empress would wear.

"Would you like to try that one on?" asked the clerk noticing her intense stare.

"Yes, very much please," answered Luella enthusiastically. A few minutes later was fully clothed in the kimono and all of its accessories.

"It's so soft and smooth," marveled Luella, doing a twirl and watching the material follow her around. The long sleeves flaring and shimmering.

"It's made of silk. This is one of our more formal kimonos. It's a furisode style kimono as you can see from the long sleeves. It's generally for young and unmarried women."

"Well, I am unmarried."

"You do yourself too little credit. I hope that I'm not being rude, but you're around 18 are you not?"

"Well, I'm 136, almost 137," answered Luella watching the clerk's jaw drop.

"Wha-how?"

"I'm an elf," answered Luella simply.

"A...a real elf? Not just...pretend? Like the people who go to those conventions?"

"Mm Hm, I'm a wood elf from what you call the Special Region."

"Forgive me for asking, but how long can elves live for?"

"Forever if nothing happens to us."

"I...see. Well then miss Luella, the furisode also had connotations of eligibility for marriage when worn. Are you alright with this?"

"Yup, that's alright."

"It is also a summer model meaning that it isn't padded. Would you like to try on a winter model instead? It may be a little cold to wear otherwise."

"No, this is good thank you. It's really warm where I come from so I wouldn't be able to wear a padded one when I go home. I would really like to get this one."

"You don't wish to look at any other?"

"Nope, I want this one," exclaimed the elf cheerily.

"Very well then Miss Luella. A few basic points of kimono etiquette are in order then. Whenever you wrap it, wrap it from left to right. They're only ever wrapped right to left for a funeral. If at some point you do get married you will no longer be able to wear the furisode style of kimono. You will instead need a irotomesode or else a kurotomesode for a similar or greater level of formality. I have a small instructional booklet that I can give you to help teach you how to tie the obi bow on your kimono properly, as well as how to properly wrap it."

"Thank you very much. If I ever need a new kimono I'll definitely come back here. How much do I owe you for all of this?"

"This kimono and everything that you need to go with it, is currently priced at 2 200 000 yen. Or about $20740.20 in American Dollars."

"W-what?"squeaked Luella.

"Yes, this type of kimono is generally handmade and it's very high quality. If you like there are several cheaper models for formal wear if you would like."

"Yeah, I should probably do that," said Luella subdued. "Sorry for taking up your time with this."

"It's no problem at all. In fact I think you look quite good in that kimono."

"Thank you very much. Can you help me take it off?"

"Of course."

"Hey Luella, why are you so glum all of a sudden?" asked Boris watching as the glee had slipped from the elfin girl's face.

"Oh? It's too expensive. I'm going to get a cheaper one," answered Luella with a shy smile.

"How much is it?"

"It's a lot," answered Luella sounding embarrassed.

"How much is a lot?"

"Well. It's over two million yen," answered Luella rather sheepishly.

"Wait here one second Luella, I'm going to go talk to Feliks."

"No, it's okay, I can get something else."

"No buts darling, and don't you dare take that kimono off."

Boris ignored Luella's protests and went off to the other side of the store where Feliks was standing with Ianthe and the platinum haired girl that was with the Japanese delegation.

"No Ianthe. Lelei, can you tell her that the price is the price and she can't haggle here?"

"She says that if you don't haggle you get swindled and that any self respecting merchant will always haggle," answered the mage in her almost emotionless voice. "She also said other things that I don't think I can repeat," continued Lelei after a moments pause.

"Tell her that the prices here are fixed," said Feliks sounding rather exasperated.

"Hey Lieutenant, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure, what do you need?"

"Well Luella found a dress that she likes."

"Oh? Oh, I see her over there, she looks really cute in that kimono. What's the problem?"

"Well it's a formal kimono so it costs a bit more."

"Yeah, they can. How much are we talking Boris?"

"Something over two million yen." Feliks let out a low whistle.

"That is a bit more."

"Yeah I know. Listen, she really likes it and I was wondering if we could get it for her. I was thinking that we just write it off as an expense. I mean they gave us that money to spend in two days and I don't need to get anything if that helps."

"Damn, I hope that your other kids don't get jealous when they find out how much you're doting on your new daughter Boris. Tell her it's fine to get."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. That kimono probably isn't even worth as much as some of the suits the Politburo wear anyways. I honestly think that they gave us the money for appearances to be truthful. To make us look good in front of the Japanese. Might as well spend it. I doubt Ianthe is going to do anything other than argue with the clerk and me anyways."

"Thanks Feliks."

"Hey it's for the cute girl, not the big brute so don't get too thankful."

"Still no respect from you huh Lieutenant?"

"None at all Sergeant."

"Ianthe says that you're an idiot if you think that prices are fixed," said Lelei in her ever level voice.

"Dammit, tell her either pick something and pay the asking price or she's not getting anything!" snapped Feliks.

Boris left the two of them to argue and made his way back to Luella who was standing as if she was embarrassed to still be wearing the kimono.

"Hey there darling, I talked to Feliks and he said that it's fine. You can get the kimono."

"Really?" said Luella, face lighting up with glee.

"Yup, it's all yours."

"Oh thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Oh gods I have a kimono!" Bubbled Luella jumping up and down in place before laughing. It was high and clear, like tinkling crystal, and the very sound of it seemed to fill both Boris and the clerk with joy as well. Making them both smile and to Boris it made him feel warm and heady, like he was back enjoying New Years with his family and having a wonderful time.

"Oh gods thank you!" said Luella rushing in and hugging Boris. "I promise I'll take really good care of it! I won't let anything happen to it I swear! I'm going to go show it to Ianthe!" blurted out the elf, running off to the other side of the store to the silver haired mercenary.

He frowned though when he saw another woman in the store watching Luella intently. It wasn't a look of curiosity, like someone looking at something they had never seen before, but the look of a person studying and committing it to memory.

If the woman saw Boris' glare she gave no sign, merely went back to browsing a rack full of blouses.

Xxx

"This is really nice," commented Viktor as he waited for the Lieutenant and the Japanese to check them into their hotel. "Is that a TV?" asked the Medic, pointing to a long flat panel hanging from a wall with the clearest picture and sound he had ever seen. He couldn't understand any of what was being said, but it looked really nice.

"I think so. Looks really big though, and it's really thin. How do they fit the vacuum tubes in it?"

"Maybe they just have really small vacuum tubes? Hey Abram, did your family ever have a TV?"

"No. We were never inside enough to need one. There's always something to do on a farm so we mostly just listened to the radio. Oh, I don't think I told you this, but my brother and his family got selected to get a homestead in the Special Region."

"Really? That's pretty lucky. Too bad he's married though eh? Lot's of cute girls in the Special Region," said Vitsin casting a glance over at Luella who was dressed in her new kimono.

"Don't look!" said Abram mortified. "If the Sergeant thinks you're going to put the moves on her he'll beat you to a pulp. He's more protective of her than my dad is of my youngest sister."

"I'm not getting anywhere near Senior Sergeant Kotov's bad side," said Viktor with a shudder. "Anyways that's good news for your brother."

"Thank you. I've heard that they're setting up the farms differently in the Special Region. My brother is actually going to own the land and be able to keep a large share of the profits and crop that he produces. It's some kind of economic experiment to see if they out produce the collectives. My brother is pretty happy about it."

"You thinking about trying to get a homestead there too?" asked Viktor.

"I would like to try. The land is perfect for farming and the soil is really nice. What about you?"

"I'm not a farmer, I would like to live in the Special Region and people always need a doctor."

"You're trying to become a doctor?"

"Yeah. I got a three year exemption from service to go to school and while I've been serving I finished my fourth year doing correspondence work. When I get leave I go and write the exams and do the lab work. Actually I've only got four months left of service."

"Think they'll keep you longer since you're deployed?"

"No," said Viktor dismissively. "The Special Region isn't really a combat deployment. More like a security one. Still, if they did I wouldn't necessarily mind it. You've seen those girls who are kinda like rabbits? Huge," said Viktor, pantomiming breasts.

"Well, yeah," said Abram, the young marksman flushing red but grinning. "There was one girl in a village that we passed through going to Alnus that was kind of cute. Dreyford I think it was? I wouldn't mind getting to know her a little better."

"There we go," said Viktor grinning and slapping the younger man on the back. "Going to make a bigger family than the one you got now?"

"I don't think I could."

"No?"

"No, my family's really big."

"How big is really big?"

"I have 24 siblings."

"Holy shit! How? I mean how?!"

"Well my parents got married when they were 17 and they've just never stopped having kids. Actually last month I just had another brother born. Alexi."

"Goddamn. My parents had their six and that was it for them and I think that that's all I'm going to have. I don't even really want that many, but it's the law so what can you do?"

"I don't know, I like big families. Your brothers and sisters are always there for you when you need them. Three of my sisters became nurses actually. Do you know any of them?"

"Probably not, I'm from Stalingrad."

"Okay then. Really different here though right? I mean everything's done with computers and they're all so small."

"I know. And you know those little squares everyone carries around? They're phones, but also mini computers. They call them Iphones."

"But how can they make calls if there's no cord? Do they use radio waves?"

"Damned if I know, but everyone has one. I'm going to see if the Lieutenant will let me get one tomorrow. They look really cool," said the medic."

"Think they'll let us take it back with us to the Special Region?" asked Abram.

"I don't see why they wouldn't. Unless they're going to throw us in prison for what the Lieutenant did."

"Think that they would?" asked the small marksman with no small amount of trepidation.

"I hope not. I think we should try not to think about it."

"Yeah," agreed Abram.

"Have you ever wondered what the people from the Special Region think of all our technology? I mean this stuff blows my mind. What do you think they think of all of this?"

"No idea," said Abram truthfully.

Xxx

Magic. It was all some kind of new fucking magic and Ianthe didn't care what anyone else told her that it was. From the talking boxes with people in them to doors that moved on their own to the horseless carriages. She was going to try and stop understanding how everything worked and just nod, smile, and accept any other weird thing that happened to reveal itself as some new magic.

She had originally been slated to share accommodations with the elf Luella, but it seemed that those arrangements had not been to her liking and she had all but thrown a tantrum in the lobby of this giant inn. Ianthe had wanted to cuff her upside the head, but instead her lord had caved in and she had gotten her way. So now Luella was with Boris and she was Feliks.

In all honesty she quite liked this arrangement much better. She now shared the same quarters as her liege and as such could fulfill all of her duties as his sworn sword. Not to mention that the quarters she was given was more than fitting for her station and she had to admit it stoked her ego to have such luxurious quarters. The bed even! Big enough for four people and yet it was only for her and Feliks had one of his own. She also liked being near Feliks as well to ensure his protection. Although she wasn't sure how to use this...shower.

Ianthe was standing in a sterile white bathroom with a large mirror that no longer surprised her to see its size or quality. It seemed glass was cheaper than water here too, but she had no idea how that was possible either. We was staring at a pair of handles in a tub trying to figure out how it worked. Feliks had used it and briefly showed her how to use it. She was stripped to the waist and kept pulling up the metal pin necessary to have a shower, but it kept falling down which was doing nothing but aggravating her.

"Fucking thing, stay up," cursed Ianthe pulling up the metal pin, holding it and glaring at it, staring at it, like she was daring it to go back down. Letting it go, it fell back down with a soft clink.

"FUCKING CUNT!" yelled Ianthe banging her fist off the wall.

"Feliks, the damn thing doesn't work! Wait, umm. Feliks. Come...help. Come help Feliks," said Ianthe finding the proper words in Russian.

"Yes? Ah!" said her employer in shock, looking away quickly after opening the door to the washroom.

Ianthe practically growled in frustration. She was in no mood for his overly prudish behavior and striding forwards with purpose, she grabbed his arm and pulled him into the washroom with her, heedless of his protests.

"Work. Make work," said Ianthe gesturing forcefully at the bath.

After a moments hesitation and still red faced he held up the metal pin and turned one of the handles in the tub. Soon, water was gushing out of a spout near the top of the bath and raining warm water down below.

"Thank you," said Ianthe and continued undressing for the bath. She didn't know whether to laugh or get angry when her employer almost tripped in his haste to get out, like he was afraid of womanly parts. She didn't think he was like her brother, but you never knew. If he kept that it would actually start making her feel like she was malformed or something. I mean, she was muscular sure, but that didn't mean she wasn't feminine. Dammit! He was already making her self conscious!

Ianthe's eyes fixated with on Felix's bare back in surprise. The skin on a large portion of it was mottled, like it had been burned or cut, possibly both. She only had a moment to look at it before the door was slammed closed, cutting off her view of it. What could have done that?

Alone, Ianthe took out the metal bands that kept her ears pinned to the side of her head and sighed in relief when the sprung back into place like a branch pulled back and let go. Rubbing them in relief and feeling the one twitch involuntarily in response. Being an elf, even half elvish in Messalon was to be viewed upon with suspicion and mistrust due to the Southern Raiders and so Ianthe took every measure she could to hide her mother's heritage. Having gone so far as to duel several men who had dared to say she was more elf than human. Still, it felt nice to not have them bound.

Xxx

Luella woke to quiet grunts and unsteady breathing. Yawning and rubbing the sleep from her eyes she looked over and saw Boris gripping his bedding tightly and shifting back and forh. Throwing back the covers and clad in her new pink pajamas, she made her way over to him, concerned.

He was sweating profusely and his eyes were moving quickly beneath his eyelids, as if though they were trying to escape. His head would turn back and forth, grunts like half formed words coming intermittently from him.

Luella was terrified for a moment that he was possessed or that maybe dying, but after taking a moment to calm herself she realized that it wasn't the case. These were his memories tormenting him. His pasts deeds refusing to let him rest peacefully.

Conflicted because she wasn't supposed to use her magic unless the need was dire and her desire to help, Luella hesitantly reached out with her power to see what was wrong and if she was right.

As soon as her mind touched his, she felt what he felt. His rage, his pain, his fear, his regret, and his fear. Images of blood and death assaulted her and Luella gathered her will and stopped the flow of emotions. If one was not careful they could become entirely embroiled in such a strong emotional experience and it could damage them just as much as the person that it was tormenting. It was especially dangerous for one of Luella's potential.

Yet even though she had blocked the flow of images, she couldn't stop a few tears from falling for the heavy burden that Boris carried every day of his life. Of the pain he hid from sight. Luella wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of her pajama top and cradled his head in her lap. So embroiled was he in his past memories that he never woke. Then she began to sing.

Low and softly, her very blood imbuing her words with power, Luella washed away his suffering, banishing his terrors back to the depths of his mind where they had come from. She took out his fear, his anger, and his suffering as if she was drawing pus from a wound. She sang until he no longer gripped his sheets with knuckles so white they threatened to break the skin. Until his body was no longer wracked by tremors quivered and trembled and his eyes no longer flicked about crazily. Soon his breathing was deep, relaxed, and rhythmic. His muscles relaxed and still. Luella smiled and leaned down, kissing Boris atop of his bald head, before laying him back down upon his pillows.

Finding that she wasn't quite ready to go back to sleep, Luella found her way out to the balcony of her room. The stone was cool on her feet, cold even, but for the moment she could stand it. The city was beautiful, even at night it was lit up brightly with so many different colors. It was a world so foreign and alien to her own that she wondered if it was possible that it could even exist at all. The air was dirty though. Smelling of alchemical means and irritating her throat. Was this what technology would bring to her world? But more importantly, would the Apostles allow it?

With a click, Luella was captured forever in a picture by a camera looking at her from another tower. With another click, she was captured again, yet in a different pose. The clicking never stopped the entire time she was on the balcony.

AN: Well that's another chapter done. Tell me what you guys think and if you like the little flashbacks I do or if you would prefer that I stop doing them and who you would like to make more interaction with. Thanks for reading and thanks for being patient.


	9. Chapter 9

AN: Before I begin I just want to say that the weather in Japan in the Manga and Anime was kind of inconsistent. I mean it's cold enough for Tuka to see her breath and there's a Christmas Tree set up, but the grass is still green and the trees are still green as well. So I'm going to roll with the assumption that it's a super mild winter in Japan.

"Legate, I must protest to your decision. The Soviets are not something to be taken lightly."

"You may protest all you like Centurion Octavian, it will change nothing. They have been here for a number of months and other than building their fortress they have done very little. We are a hundred miles from Mt. Rubicon. Any attack on this fort and we would have at least a weeks advance warning."

"Legate Accius, please, I ask you to reconsider. They have taken the Big Deep and they did it in but a single day! They had no advance warning despite being fifty miles from Rubicon. Stories from the survivors tell of iron beasts flying through the air, spitting fire and metal at all those they gazed upon. We must ask for help."

"Help?" It was a statement of someone repeating an idea that was totally unacceptable and the Legate turned sharply on his heel, coming face to face with the Centurion. The slaves carrying the umbrella shading the Legate having to stop quickly to stay abreast of the general.

"Help to do what? What kind of help could we receive that has not already been sent? 150 000 men, dragons, and beasts were sent to _help_. The majority of that _help_ is now dead or scattered. The Empire paid top coin for _help_ from those blood thirsty Messalonians. Not to mention the Andulsians, and the Carthites. The holy order of the Twin Peaks even offered us their services to reclaim the mountain. They even scraped together 40 000 slaves to use as spear levies from across the Empire. What did we get from all of these famed mercenary companies? From those gleaming knights? From the hordes of slaves to fill our ranks? So touted were there skills? So vast were their numbers? For all the gold and silver we paid? _Nothing._ And that is exactly the kind of help that we would get even if the Empire sent us all of its legions."

Accius let out a bitter laugh, shaking his jowls as he did so, the double chins jiggling from the motion. His white toga with crimson striping across the shoulder to signify his membership of the Legion doing little to disguise how the rest of his frame jiggled like pudding with the laugh.

"Look around you Centurion. Go on look."

"My lord, that is not-"

"I gave you an order Centurion."

"I see stone walls my lord. Sixteen feet high and five wide made of stone and overgrown with moss at the base. I see buildings made of stone and wood meant to house men and beasts as well as bakeries, a smithy, and a fletchery. All with red tiled roofs and white washed walls. I see wells, training grounds, and a parade ground with men in armor walking about on cobbled ground and training."

"Good. Come on top of the walls with me and continue. What else do you see?"

"I see a valley my lord, with a single long and twisting road leading up to the fort, with the forests cut down for a mile all around us. I see a river making its way through the mountains and how a stream passes through our fort linking it to us. I see a central keep made entirely out of stone flying the flag of the Empire and the 21st Garrison Legion. On the walls I see ballista and scorpion spear launchers as well as catapults. I see two thousand men here with the potential for many more. I also see a village farther down in the valley."

"Very good Centurion Octavian. Now tell me, what do you notice about the village?"

"Home to two hundred people perhaps and maybe another three or four hundred scattered about in the farms around it. I see buildings, a mill, and what smells like a tannery."

"Yes. And do you know what that village is not?"

"No my lord."

"It is not burning. It is not razed to the ground. Crows and birds of carrion are not gorging themselves on its inhabitants, because it has not been set upon by the some forty to fifty thousand survivors of our mercenary army. Do you know why? It is because we are here. It is because the Imperial Legion is still ever watchful, ever vigilant, and ever present. Our fort here is not merely more men to throw to the wolves, it is a symbol of law and order. Of peace and security. To maintain that order, our men must continue to hunt the bandits and deserters that litter this land."

"Yet we allow an enemy to grow ever stronger a mere four days march from here my lord. What will happen to our law and order when they come here with their steel beasts and their magic?"

"Centurion I have indulged you quite enough I think. You are a citizen of the Empire so I can not whip you for your insolence as I might another barbarian bearing the marks that you do upon your arms, but remember whom you address. My brother is a member of the Imperial Senate, my father, gods rest his soul, was praetor of the Southern Imperial District. My wife, 98th in line for the Imperial Throne itself. My very _rank_ in the Legion far above yours."

"Forgive me my Legate, for I have overstepped," said Octavian, bowing his head and striking his breast with his fist in proper salute, making him wince at his half healed wounds from those metal rods.

"Yes, you have. It is of no matter now. Your remaining troupe of mounted legionnaires will do well to help me patrol this region. Their horses will be an asset when they arrive tomorrow. I sincerely believe that so long as we do not anger these outsiders they will leave us in peace."

"That may be a problem my lord."

"Why?" it was not so much a question as a great rumble of angle only beginning to surface.

"I employed three warrior bunny wind dancers to end the life of the leader of the outlanders. From what my spies have told me, they failed."

"Damn you! Citizen or not you're still nothing but a filthy barbarian from the frontier! Not only did you do this without consulting anyone but yourself, but you hire _beast women_ to do it? How did you ever expect it _not_ to fail?"

"While the warrior bunnies did lose the war to the Empire sir, individually they are extremely skilled and capable warriors. Their success rate for assassinations and information gathering is second only to the dark elves. With their former position within the Plains Confederation, I had assumed they would be successful."

"You _assumed_ incorrectly Centurion. God grant us clemency for that act and hope that the Soviets do not discover who sent them."

"I paid them in advance sir. Warrior bunnies don't talk, they're too tough for that."

"So you claim. They are beasts, creatures unable to be understood by the human mind."

"Legate, I-do you hear that?"

"A thunderstorm? Now? With no clouds?" said Accius looking to the sky above. "I saw no flash of lighting, and why is it getting louder?"

"Dragon approaching!" came the excited yell from one of the fort's watchtowers.

"What? Dragon?" murmured Octavian, looking towards the mouth of the valley in the sky. He saw something glint and saw something that looked like an arrow head with a flat nose approaching them. Then coming from the sky above, he saw more of the same arrowhead like craft descend. MiG, that was what his spies had told him these things were called.

"MiG attack! MiG attack! Shoot them down!" bellowed Octavian to the surrounding legionnaires, those not on the wall looking around for whatever was causing the sound.

"Now see here Centurion, I command here and as such I will give the orders!" reproached Accius.

A moment later Octavian saw one of the MiGs climbing higher into the sky as it crossed over the fort, but two pods were falling from it. They fell down inside the fort and stuck a barracks. And then the barracks erupted as if the earth was retching forth wood and stone from its gut.

The sound was deafening, reducing Octavian's hearing range to high pitched ringing and his chest vibrated as if someone had punched him. Dust and heat washed over him as he shielded his face from the debris cloud that washed over him.

"TAKE COVER!" yelled Octavian, even though he could barely hear himself shout it. He reached the bottom of the wall just as the other MiGs started passing over the fort.

More pods fell as they passed overhead, hitting buildings, training yards, and the keep itself throwing stone and timbers around like an angry child does to their toys. Each impact sent vibrations through Octavian and tore gaping wounds into the stone at their feet, gouging the earth beneath it.

He saw men disappear in the blasts of light and fire, watching them merely cease to be and others picked up and tossed as if they were caught in a great wind. It seemed that nowhere was safe and all they could do was cower like rats as they wre assaulted from the air. He saw the MiGs spew fire from their backs as they climbed higher into the air after attacking like some kind of hell spawn.

Just as quickly as it had started though, it seemed like it was over. The sky once again clear of anything other than blue or clouds. The fort was a mess though.

Not a single building had been spared though. They had been torn open, the keep especially with gaping holes in both its roof and walls, exposing its innards and broken wooden beams. And yet most of the legionnaires were alive. Some were dazed, others wounded, but on the whole they had survived this assault on their fort. It was cratered and pitted, but the walls were still intact and its defenders still of able body and carrying steel.

"Another wave! Another wave sighted!" came the call from one of the only surviving towers, the legionnaire blowing for all he was worth into a warning horn.

"Everyone, out of the fort! Everyone out now!" yelled Octavian. He didn't know why he was yelling. They had weathered the last assault, but for some reason he felt almost a natural instinct to flee danger rearing its head. As if what was coming next was to be far worse.

"Damned barbarian, you have no courage at all do you!?" shouted Accius down at him from the top of the wall, followed by a slew of other insults.

"Everyone out now, everyone run, go!" Yelled Octavian trying to get stunned legionnaires to respond.

"Belay that order and stand firm! Man the ballista and catapults, we'll bring these iron chariots down in short order!" yelled Accius a moment before the roar of the MiGs began to build to a frightening volume.

The first passed overhead and began to climb away, releasing iron pods just like the others. Yet Octavian watched these fall with a sense of dread. When they hit, they consumed everything in a roar of hungry flame.

The fire lashed out in a wave, consuming man and beast alike in its hungry maw. Screams and whinnies cut short and silenced by the roaring flames. Devouring all it touched with insatiable appetite. The heat was unbearable, like standing inside of a bonfire, feeling like it would make his skin crack and peel away. The air became hard to breath and felt like it was scorching the inside of Octavian's throat.

It was not the last MiG to hit them and soon scores of others were passing over their walls, iron pods falling into the now exposed innards of the fort, their stone casings cracked open and the flames slipped through those cracks greedily. Men were consumed as they ran, unable to resist as they were bathed in hot flame and immolated. Flash cooked inside their own armor.

The training grounds, the barracks, the armory, the fletchery, and even the keep were all burning. In just a few moments this fort had gone from being a symbol of Imperial power to a burning ruin, and soon his tomb if Octavian did not leave quickly.

Legate Accius was still cursing his name to every god that Octavian had ever heard of when an iron pod fell on the wall he was standing upon and his form took to flame like a candles wick.

Octavian had had the underworld described to him many times by many different priests. They said that the Goddess Hardy kept a special place of fire and brimstone for those who had been truly heinous in life. A place of suffering and fire, devoid of water or anything but burning coals and unbearable heat. This seemed like that place.

He watched men running, turn to shadows before disappearing as the fire washed over them. Those farther away, running around and letting loose the kind of screams not imagined possible for the human throat to make. Yet, the MiGs were not done with them. Coming from the near side of the mountain, more were coming down and coming fast to hit the near side of the wall that up till now had sheltered the legionnaires who had sought shelter behind its stone.

Their arrowhead like bodies green on the top he now saw like the land below. Contrails of air coming from the ends of their wings, so great was their speed. A single bulbous eye on top peering like an insect down upon them, and capable of as about as much mercy as one.

Looking around quickly, Octavian saw that the gates were ablaze and there was no escape that way. There was however, an irrigation tunnel that funneled the water flowing down from the mountain to the river below. It was a closed tunnel though one that was never made with the intention for living things to use it. It could narrow and trap him in there, stuck and unable to move, drowning him at the least. Still, he had no choice.

Octavian threw himself down the chute, his hand immediately cut by a sharp rock protrusion as he started his descent down the dark watery tunnel. It was lit up red for a moment as fire roared in after him, but banging off a wall, Octavian was quickly directed downwards and the flames were lost from sight.

As he was rushed deeper into the tunnel, he was drawn under and water rushed into his open mouth and up his nose. He tried to hold his breath, but his head rebounding off a stone wall robbed him of his senses momentarily and much of his air.

He dropped down unexpectedly down a vertical shaft and for a moment he could breathe. He sputtered and attempted to draw air into his lungs, but as he did he was once again engulfed in water, this time filling his lungs with water.

Unable to breathe, unable to see, and his lungs burning for air as his body protested angrily to the trauma and his unhealed wounds, Octavian realized that he was going to die. As his vision began to darken even more than the oppressive blackness of the tunnel had allowed, it suddenly brightened, though remained gray.

Coughing and sputtering, Octavian greedily gulped in air even though his lungs were still half full of water, causing him to cough even more. Yet nothing had ever felt so sweet as the air filling his lungs, even with the coughing it produced.

He was floating on his back down the mountainside from the fort, though at a more gentle slope and speed. It gave him an excellent view of the Imperial fort, fully ablaze and sending dark plumes of smoke into the air. Of the some 2000 men who had inhabited it, there was no sign. Perhaps some had survived, at least 200 that had been on patrol for sure. Of the rest, it was unlikely.

By the time that Octavian had regained his senses and strength well enough to remove himself from the water duct, he was already at the river and he had all but come to a stop, the water almost gently rushing past him.

With an aching body, he rolled out of the stone channel and crawled forwards a few feet, stopping when he saw a steel armored boot. Looking up, it was followed by more armor and on the breastplate was a standard symbol. One of crossed swords and a cloud. The Skyraiders company. Messalonian mercenaries. And there wasn't just one.

Xxx

Feliks woke before his alarm, but he stayed in bed, staring at the ceiling. He was to speak to the Japanese Diet this afternoon and Itami was to speak to them earlier in the morning. He knew what he was going to say, or at least he thought that he did. He'd rehearsed it many times in his mind and made flash cards to practive, but the more he thought about it, the more he thought that he would make a fool of himself and the Union. He didn't like speaking in front of large groups of people, especially formal gatherings like government committees. He was actually rather surprised at Itami's open reception to him, especially considering what he'd done. The woman sergeant with him though, Shino, only ever glared at him with contempt and outright hatred whenever she was in the same vicinity as him. He couldn't fault her for that though. The other man with them, Feliks hadn't caught his name, but he seemed to be in the middle of the two opinions. He didn't seem to outright hate Feliks, but he wasn't rushing to be his friend either.

Itami's reason for needing to go was rather benign compared to his so far as he knew. He had gone against orders and some villagers fleeing a fire dragon had been killed under his watch. To Feliks it seemed more like a matter to be solved before a military tribunal, not a civilian government inquiry. People died in combat zones, it was an inevitability. To fault someone for that was just foolish. That being said however, cutting off communications with your superiors and not alerting them to your intentions or actions that resulted in people dying under you watch was another matter entirely. But again, that was a matter for a military tribunal, not a civilian one.

So far as he understood it though, there was great division within the government as to even what the role of Japan should be in Falmart. Some merely wanted a defensive fort on Alnus hill, others to expand their area of influence and control. Another faction yet wanted to fill the gate with concrete and pretend that it just didn't exist. Itami and his recon group's Diet summons was likely an attempt by one group or other trying to push their agenda for the Special Region as he heard the Japanese keep referring to it as.

His summons though, and the explanation that he gave could very well shape the future relations between the Union and the Japanese and their allies. If he did well, the incident may turn out to be nothing more than a bump in otherwise healthy relations between the Union and Japan. By extension, possibly the rest of the nations of this world. It was a lot of pressure on him and Feliks had to be sure not to disappoint.

If the technology that was available to their citizens was any indication, the Japanese were far, far more advanced electronically than the Union was. Their targeting systems, communications, and even reconnaissance abilities would outstrip what the Soviet military was capable of by a wide margin. As yet though, the Union held a major numbers superiority in both men and equipment in Falmart. The real question being though, was how large was the gap in capabilities? If it was small, the casualties could be acceptable, it not... it was a question best left unanswered.

A soft sigh make him look over and he saw Ianthe sleeping in the bed next to his. It was almost funny in a way. She had even gotten an extra blanket to throw over the usual amount of bedding and was now practically buried in a mountain of comforters and quilts. It seemed that she had never experienced a winter before, even one so mild as this in her sunny island home.

It was almost shocking to see her elf like ear sticking into the air like a flag through her hair, twitching when a draft of air hit it. Until he had been held by the SDF, he had not even suspected that she wasn't entirely human, or that it was possible for humans and demi-humans to have children. She looked peaceful when she slept. Without the look of agitation that she normally carried when awake, like she was relieved of a great burden only when she slept. She actually looked cute like this, especially her ears, not that he'd ever tell her that though. Most likely she'd take it as an insult.

The more he looked though, the more he could see the features that were more elvish than human. Her face had a symmetry to it that was just a little too perfect, apart from a faint scar that cut into one of her eyebrows. She was tall and lean, but not quite as stocky as a woman with her size and strength should be.

An electronic ringing broke the silence and in an instant he saw Ianthe's ice chip blue eyes shoot open. In a flash she had thrown her blankets off and was on her feet, longsword in hand, head whipping back and forth looking for a threat. Not even entirely awake yet.

Calmly Feliks picked up the ringing phone on his nightstand table and confirmed their wake up call.

"All good," said Feliks simply in Common.

"All good," repeated Ianthe, sheathing her sword and looking embarrassed. She had slept with her sheathed blade next to her which either spoke of paranoia or else far more likely a reflex from years spent on the battlefield where an unwary moment that left you unarmed could be your last.

Ianthe's eyes opened wide and her hand flew up to her unbound ears. A look of either shame or embarrassment crossed her features and she looked away from Feliks quickly. She grabbed her two brass clips off of her nightstand and went quickly to the washroom. When she emerged, you would never be able to tell that she was part elvish at all.

Xxx

"It's so soft," marveled Tuka, stroking the sleeve of the kimono.

"They told me that it was silk. I've had silk described to me before, but I've never actually seen or felt it. It's so nice. What's yours made out of?"

"Umm, polyester and cotton."

"What's polyester?"

"I'm not sure," said Tuka putting a finger to her chin contemplatively. "Maybe another kind of cotton?"

"Maybe, but it doesn't feel like cotton."

"Well then I don't really know."

"Tuka, I was wondering, why did you come by yourself? Did your dad not want to come to Japan? I was hoping to meet him and see about you two coming to live with me," asked Luella innocently.

"I'm not alone, I'm here with Lelei, and Itami, and everyone else. Besides, my dad wasn't involved in the dragon attack so he didn't have to come. Still, it wasn't like I could find him to ask him," giggled Tuka.

"How wasn't he attacked by the dragon with you?" asked Luella perplexed. "Weren't you taken from your village well when the SDF saved you? How did your father know where to find you or where to go if you weren't together when the dragon attacked? Did you send for him, or was there not enough room in the SDF vehicles?"

"Well, my father was...my father was," trailed off Tuka getting a far away look in her eyes. It wasn't the look of someone trying to remember something, but of someone retreating from the world around them. Empty eyed and blank, almost like she had become a doll instead of an elf.

"Tuka?" said Luella gently, worried for her friend, shaking her shoulder.

"Oh? You know I never really thought to ask him, he just kind of showed up one day," said Tuka, coming out of her stupor and smiling widely. "That's kind of odd isn't it? You'd think a daughter would want to know where her father was wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, it's good that he's well though," said Luella, not entirely convinced. Whatever that look had been, it had been frightening. Like Tuka's soul had drawn in on itself and away from the world, like someone might draw the curtains and curl up on their bed to feel safe.

"Are you girls ready yet? We have to be downstairs in five minutes," came a voice after a polite knock on the door.

"We're ready," answered Luella in Japanese.

Soon they were downstairs in the lobby and waiting for their bus to come around. There were other men too, men in dark suits that were with their group wherever they went although they never talked too much except to each other or to Feliks and Itami. They had their own black carriages that they rode in, cars she had heard them called and they followed their group wherever they went.

At the moment Luella was trying to fix the bow on her obi, but with little success. She had meant to study the book about it more this morning, but instead she had spent it with Tuka and the time had slipped away from her.

"Here, let me help you with that."

It was the SDF woman Shino who had said it and with a few deft movements of hands long used to dealing with kimono's, she had both tied the obi and straightened her kimono.

"Thank you, that was very kind of you."

"No problem, you're a guest here and if you need anything else don't hesitate to ask. Besides, I took a course on how to do it properly."

"Perhaps I should have as well. They gave me a book, but I didn't read it as well as I should have," admitted Luella sheepishly. "I was worried of looking foolish before your Diet today."

"Don't sweat it, learning how to dress in a kimono properly is hard. Most people actually need to take a course on how to wrap it properly and tie the obi. I know I did. Say, I've been meaning to ask you, how did a nice girl like you end up traveling with these guys anyways?" asked Shino, casting a glance at the Soviets in their group.

"Well I guess similar to Tuka's story, they saved me. I was helping to gather wood for our village when we were attacked. I was supposed to head back to the village where our sages are to protect us, but I panicked and ran deeper into the forest. Many of my kin did as well. We were not...prepared for violence. They chased after me and shot me with an arrow. I was scared that I was going to die, really scared. The next thing I remember was waking up with Volkov pinching my ear. Then I, well, kind of punched him," said Luella sheepishly. "The pinching hurt though," defended Luella quickly. Shino laughed.

"You elves all need help getting rescued at some point eh?"

"We do not! But we do like you helping us when we do, it's very much appreciated," added the elfin girl sweetly.

"Did those guys make any jokes about you after they found you? I know that some of the guys in the 3rd made some joke about Tuka being wet when they found her. Pigs so far as I'm concerned."

"Well, no, I don't think so. At least they never told me that they did. But how is that joke funny? She was in a well so of course she's going to be wet. There's water in a well."

"Uh, well, I'll tell you when you're a bit older then."

"I'm 136, how much older do I have to get?"

"150," said Shino quickly.

"Why do I have to wait till I'm 150 to do everything?" huffed Luella.

"It's just the way things are."

"I guess so," said Luella dejectedly.

"Alright, bus is here, everyone get ready to move," called out Itami to the Assembled parties lounging around the reception area.

The bus ride from the hotel wasn't a great distance, but traffic still made it take nearly a half hour to make it to the Parliament buildings. Luella spent most of the trip watching out the window at everyone and everything outside the bus.

There were so many people here, more than she had seen in her entire life and that was with the arrival of the Soviets. How did they manage to feed this many people? How many cities like this were there in Japan? Did the other nations have them as well? Were there other races besides humans in this world as well?

The questions burned at Luella and she needed to have them answered. She wanted to know how all of these inventions that the Japanese and Soviets had worked. She had an idea of how some of it worked, but no real understanding of it. Despite her age, she was like a child next to these people. Perhaps her own people had been too complacent, too sure of their own way of doing things that they had never pushed nearly as hard as these humans had? It was not a pleasing thought, but one that she had to consider all the same.

In no time at all, they were at their destination, or close to it anyways. Everyone except the Royals and an SDF soldier got off of the bus and walking as a group they made their way down a stone walkway with other carriages passing by them on the road. Both sides of which were packed end to end with their carriages that they called cars. Empty though, almost like they were abandoned.

It was sunny out despite the chill, though the towers blocked much of that light, casting long shadows across everything, dark and foreboding. There were trees here though. Not a naturally occurring forest, but trees all the same and it calmed and comforted Luella to hear the gentle sigh of the wind through their leaves, and the creaking of their branches. It reminded her of home and even when exploring a strange and exciting new world, it was nice to have something familiar.

Even here there were so many people, many of them holding black objects or looking through them. Things with glass lenses in them and many would flash repeatedly. They were behind a line and uniformed...police did they call them here? Were in front of them, and all of them were watching their group approach. Luella found it more attention than she wanted and positioned herself behind Boris, the bulk of the large veteran hiding her from view.

Some of the other Soviet's were fearful of Boris' gruff manner and imposing appearance and did whatever he said not just because of his rank over them. What they didn't seem to know was that Boris was actually just a little rough on the outside and cuddly on the inside, like a big bear.

They were near the road that led to the Japanese Diet, when a loud horn cut the air, startling Luella before a thunderous crash of steel and the sound of breaking glass so loud that it hurt her ears and assaulted her eardrums. She brought her hands to her ears, but cried out in surprise when Boris grabbed her in one her his bear sized arms and hauled her quickly up and away from where she had been.

Luella's heart stopped as her vision changed from Boris' back, to a silver car toppling end over end, towards them. Boris and everyone else was running to get out of the way and there was shouts of panic both from their group and the people assembled behind the police.

Luella shut her eyes and gripped Boris tightly, listening to crumpling metal and something else cracking and crunching. With a crash and crack of wood it ended and Boris stopped running. He let Luella down and it took a moment for her to figure out what had happened. A large carriage with a boxy back had hit this other carriage and sent it spinning out of control. The boxy carriage was stopped in the roadway, but the other had come to rest upside down against a tree.

There was also a man in front of the carriage on the grass. He was bloodied and his clothing was torn with pieces of glass sticking into him. Some of his limbs were bent at unnatural angles and seeing him made Luella feel sick at heart. In all the confusion and shouting people, no one noticed Luella begin walking towards the man until she was already kneeling at his side. If a wood elf doesn't want to be noticed, you have to be looking at them to even be sure that they are there at all and even then sometimes it's not a guarantee that you will see them.

This close to the man, she could smell the blood on him and alchemical agents emanating from the car. His hair was dark and well trimmed, though stained with blood and his brown eyes were hazy, almost unseeing. He didn't seem that old, perhaps 30 years old by human standards at most. He was dressed well, like he was going to a formal event, his dark suit stained darker by his own blood. Through a rip in his pant leg she could see a shockingly white protrusion of bone. His chest looked wrong on the side, like it was sunken in and his breathing was short and shallow. Reaching out with her power she could tell that at present he was not long for this world.

Yet through his fear and pain, it was not his own mortality that consumed his thoughts. Images of a woman, around his age with raven black hair came to the fore, smiling and serene looking. With her, a young child, old enough to walk and play, but not old enough to fend for herself by her side. A fear of what would become of them. That was his fear.

Luella cradled the man's head in her arms and looked into his eyes with her own, though he did not see her. Then she began to sing.

As she drew upon her power and the magic responded to her wishes and guidance, a golden radiance began to take shape and move as if by their own free will. Sending streamers of the purest gold into the air to dance around them and twist like they were each caught in a different wind. Pulsing and moving to the beat and tempo of her voice.

She sang of life and rebirth, of mending and healing. She sang high and clear in soothing tones that at times were no louder than a whisper but carried as if though she had shouted at the top of her lungs. Broken bones mended, with soundless pops and crackles. Flesh reformed like water returning to form, free of any abrasions and the glass removed itself without so much as a drop of blood.

When the task was done and the last clear note of her voice had died away, the man was whole again, though his apparel was still torn and bloodied. Around them a circle of flowers had formed, coaxed to life and form by the presence and power of what had just transpired. A rainbow of colors from flowers in full bloom. Letting off an array of sweet aromas.

"Are you well?"

The man just stared at her with wide eyes, almost wild like an animal caught before a predator. His breathing short and uneven, but not from physical injury.

A click made Luella remember where she was and she looked up to see a man with a black square with a long and wide glassy snout.

"Hello," said Luella not impolitely. A flash almost immediately proceeded by a click followed and Luella was momentarily blinded, having to blink several times as she stood up. When her vision began to return with dark spots dancing across it, Luella found herself all but surrounded by men and women with such glossy black boxes and she was assaulted with rapid fire clicking and flashes that made it almost impossible to see.

No matter where she turned and half blinded as she was, all she could see where the men and women surrounding her with their glossy black boxes. Constantly flashing and clicking. An elf's vision and hearing are greater than that of a humans, but in exchange it also makes their senses much more sensitive. The bright flashing all but making it feel as though her eyes were going to burn out of her skull. Luella suddenly felt trapped and fear began to blossom deep within her breast. It was too much too fast, and everything around her was just too overwhelming.

"I can't see," said Luella, but no one could understand her, because in her disorientation, she had spoken in her native tongue of elvish. With its light, lilting, and almost lyrical cadence, they no doubt thought her to be enjoying the attention.

With everywhere she turned blocked by clicking and flashing boxes with no escape, the fear grew to outright panic and desperation, spreading from her chest to her entire body like a toxin. Her breath began to come in short gasps and besides the assault of clicking all she could hear was her heart hammering in her ears.

"Boris," murmured Luella, the name all but a quiet and almost piteous moan from her throat as she took a step back from the people surrounding her. The attention and flashing lights was all too much and the panic metamorphosed inside its cocoon and emerged transformed into hysteria. Her head whipping back and forth looking for an escape but finding none. Unable to even find a familiar face and feeling truly alone.

"Boris!" shouted Luella louder, feeling her self control beginning to break and tears start to flow.

"Boris! Boris! BORIS! BORIS! BORIS! BOOOORIS!" Luella was all but shrieking the name now and weeping openly. A powerful arm wrapped around her and even with her vision dominated by dark spots and lines like black snakes she knew that it was him. She buried her face In his dress tunic and held on tightly as he roughly pushed his way through the throng of reporters and cameramen.

Most of them had stopped taking pictures now, seeing what they were doing had caused, and most had looks of guilt on their faces. A few however, kept on taking pictures.

One such reporter was still taking pictures as Luella was being led away when his camera was slapped roughly out of his hand.

"What the fuck is your problem?!" snarled Itami, seething with rage.

"Hey, I'm just trying to make a living and you wrecked my camera asshole."

"Fuck your camera and fuck your living!" raged Itami stomping on the Nikon until the lenses cracked and the thing broke apart.

"Hey! That's assaulting the press, what's your name asshole! I'm going to own your ass by the end of this!"

"1st Lieutenant Itami Youji, learn to read you stupid piece of shit!" yelled Itami, all but ripping off his name tag as he showed it to the reporter.

"Let's go Itami, he's not worth it," said Shino, grabbing hold of her superior officer and pulling him back and away from the reporter who made a big show of writing down Itami's name.

When the reporter looked up again, he saw the only one that had not moved throughout everything that had happened was the Soviet officer with dark red hair. He had a pistol on his belt, but it remained holstered and his hand nowhere near it. His face was completely neutral, showing neither rage nor joy or even agitation, but his eyes were like two storming blue seas. Devoid of anything other than what could be described as killing intent. Unlike everyone else who was reacting and moving around and expressing what had happened, if you didn't stare into his eyes, you wouldn't have known he was anything but a statue. So intense was the stare that the reporter found that he had to look away. When he looked back again, the officer was lost among the press of Security Police Division officers that formed a human wall around them.

Xxx

"So how did your hearing go?" asked Feliks. He was sitting in a chair in a relatively plain hallway of the Diet building, contemplating what he was going to say to the Japanese Parliament.

"Pretty good I think. Looks like me and my unit are in the clear. It mostly devolved into a platform for everyone to talk about what our policy should be in the Special Region. I'm still going to get a reprimand though and most likely a pay deduction, maybe a demotion," said Itami mournfully. "Honestly I don't even think that they were upset about the dragon attack. I think it was just a PR thing since a lot of other nations are getting really curious about what's going on in the Special Region and Japan hasn't been letting anyone else but America in. Everything that comes out of there is classified information. I actually got praised by the MP conducting the interview at the end for my efforts as odd as that sounds. How's Luella by the way?"

"I think that she's doing better now. She's with Boris and Ianthe in a break room and they've been feeding her juice and cookies. Tuka went to go and check on her not too long ago actually. It was just too much for her I think. She was really shaken up about it. She's older than my great grand parents and sometimes she seems so wise and independent, but at other times she's almost like a kid. A very happy and cheerful kid, but still a kid. I think elves develop in maturity a lot slower than we do."

"Yeah, I think you're right. Tuka is 165 and yet she acts just like a teenager, and with that comes the impulsiveness and occasional moodiness. Still, she's very caring and kind. I think that's an elvish thing too."

"It's still weird to think about in all honesty. They seem very human in how they act, how they talk, and besides a few physical differences they seem to be human. Then they do things like Luella just did and...I don't really know what to think of it," admitted Feliks. "They just seem more than us if that makes any sense."

"Well I don't know about that. Tuka's always seemed like an ordinary girl to me. Well, besides the being 165. And the magic. And the pointed ears," continued Itami.

"Do you ever think that all of this is just too damned weird to be real?"

"Every day of my life since Ginza," huffed Itami. "Still, it's amazing. I wouldn't trade it for anything else. I mean elves, dragons, emperors and magic? It's an incredible time to be alive. As a kid I always loved stories and animes about this kind of stuff. I always imagined that I would be a dashing hero, rushing in at the last second to save the day," said Itami with a laugh. "I think that's why I joined the army to begin with. Well, that and the steady paycheck with little chance of getting laid off or having to actually fight. When it became pretty obvious that I was wasn't going to be doing anything but training all the time and a lot of running I kinda slacked off. A lot."

"Hey Itami, I have another question for you if you'll answer it."

"Sure, what's it about?"

"In your world, this world, why did the Soviet Union collapse?"

"Well, I'm no expert, but I remember a few things," said Itami scratching his head. "The biggest reason was they spent way too much money on their military to the point where it started to cause problems in their society. I've heard some people talk about bread lines and stuff like that before. Other than that I had one of my university professors go off on how their economic policies strangled innovation and growth. If you're really interested in it there's a lot of articles and papers online you can read about it."

"I'm sorry, online?"

"The internet," said Itami like it was the most obvious thing in the world. You know, www anything you want to know or see?"

"Could you show me how to use that after we are done here?"

"Sure. Lighten up, you look pale as a ghost."

"I am merely a little nervous."

"Yeah, I get that. Me personally, I don't get too worked up about things. If it goes well it goes well, if it doesn't it doesn't. So long as I get time to enjoy my hobby and a little bit of money I'm happy."

"That is a very carefree attitude Itami, unfortunately I need things to go very well for me today and not only for myself."

"Worrying about it isn't going to help, just be yourself and it should work out fine."

"That probably would not turn out well. I've solved most of the problems I've encountered in my adult like with a Kalashnikov."

"Ehh, maybe don't do that and things will go fine. You've still got a couple of hours until your hearing, why don't we go get something to eat?"

"I thank you for your offer, but I have to ask why are you being so friendly to me? I killed two SDF soldiers and wounded others. I understand being civil, but I don't understand this."

"I could hate you," began Itami after thinking for a moment. "I know Shino does and so do a lot of the others. The marines especially hate you since you burned a few of them in that explosion. It might even be right to hate you, but I don't. Hate has never done anything for me, but make my life worse. It's not healthy to feed it and I don't want to carry it around with me. It's too heavy for me. I don't like what you did and I can't approve of it or agree with why you did it, but I don't hate you for doing it. If I had seen you running around Alnus with a rifle I might have killed you and then would it have been right for your friends to hate me for killing you? It's just something I like to avoid. I suppose if you had killed any of my friends I would hate you. I don't think I'd be able not to. People are just funny like that I guess. Well, I'm hungry. Come along if you like or don't, but I'm getting some food," waved Itami as he walked away.

After contemplating for a few moments, Feliks got out of his chair and followed the Japanese officer.

Xxx

"I am Senior Lieutenant Feliks Volkov of the Red Army of the Soviet Union," said Feliks plainly into the microphone, watching the various reactions of the assembly as he answered their first question.

"How old are you Lieutenant Volkov?"

"I am 24 years old Ma'am, born September 22nd 1943 in the city of Oulu Finland."

"So you are a Finnish National then?"

"I have Citizenship in the Finnish SSR of the Soviet Union, but I currently reside and hold citizenship to the Russian FSR. My mother was Russian and my father was Finnish. After the Great Patriotic War they adopted my mother's maiden name as their family name to better integrate when they moved into Russia."

"Are you saying that in your world Finland is a part of the Soviet Union?" More murmurs traveled around the room and Feliks awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Yes ma'am, along with the rest of the Nordic countries except for Denmark." More murmurs filled the chambers.

"Do you know why you are here today?"

"Yes ma'am I am aware of why I am here."

"For the record, are you the same Feliks Volkov that on the night of December the 2nd shot and killed two JGSDF members and set off explosives wounding more in addition to United States Marines?"

"I am, and I did," said Feliks and a murmur swept the room. Some of the looks were noticeably hostile and that did not bode well.

"My next question for you is why you shot the two JGSDF members. Of the two you shot, one was armed with only a sidearm while you had a rifle and the other was not armed at all. Doesn't that seem like a disproportionate amount of force to use?"

"No, I found it an appropriate amount of force to use."

"Even for the man that was unarmed?"

"I didn't know that he was unarmed and even had I known it would not have changed my actions. I had been discovered by that point and I did not have time to question and think about what I would do, merely react in the moment. They were a threat and so I removed the threat."

"If you only wished to remove a threat to yourself, then would it not have been more prudent to leave when your men did, thereby removing chances for future conflict?"

"I could have, and with my men I could have ran as your search teams hunted us through the surrounding countryside, ending the lives of two of them. However, I had standing orders to comply with ma'am."

"And what were those orders?"

"To prevent Soviet equipment or maps from falling into the hands of hostile or potentially hostile forces. With my orders, I could not leave unless Japan and her allies did not possess any of our equipment, maps, or technology ma'am."

"Did you think the equipment that was being held by the SDF was worth the lives and damage caused to destroy it?"

"It was not a matter of what I though they were worth, but a matter of what my superiors had decided what actions I should take in the event that it was captured."

"Yet as an individual you had control over what you chose to do and as an individual you chose to take actions that were very likely to result in a loss of life."

"Yes I did and I accept full responsibility for what I have done. However, as a soldier of the Red Army I also had orders that needed to be obeyed. To have neglected those orders would have been to neglect my obligation and oath to my nation."

"Do you regret taking the lives of the two SDF soldiers in the process of fulfilling your orders?"

"I regret having to take their lives yes. It was not my intention to create friction between the Union and the people of Japan and her allies. Just as I am sure that your soldiers found it regrettable to have to take the lives of two soldiers of the Red Army. Most soldiers do not look someone in the eye they do not know and wish them harm. Yet it is our occupation to do so. It is not something we ever wish to do."

"Very well, moving onto another topic, why did you feel it necessary to attempt to violently leave Alnus Hill?"

"I found it necessary, because I was not allowed to leave peacefully."

"Did you find that you were being mistreated or abused while you were there?"

"No, for a prisoner I found my accommodations were quite satisfactory, luxurious even, going by prisoner of war standards."

"Were you made aware that you were not being held as a prisoner of war while in the custody of the SDF and United States military?"

"I was, but I also found that I disagreed with that assertion. I was at Alnus for three days in which time I was interrogated repeatedly and separated from my men, who themselves were confined to a barracks that was fenced in and away from the main encampment."

"Did you feel that you or your men were threatened at Alnus?"

"In what way?"

"That you would be harmed physically or deprived of basic human rights or decency."

"I did not know how to feel. I definitely felt trapped, but I knew nothing of you or your allies. For all I knew you were not human at all, but rather another species entirely that merely looked human. One with malicious intent. For all I knew I could have been released the next day, kept in a cell for the next fifty years, or even eaten for that matter." 

That last comment drew a combination of snickers and angry harrumphs from many of the Japanese politicians.

"So then are you saying that it was a lack of information, or a breakdown in communication that led to your actions and the subsequent deaths of two SDF personnel as well as two soldiers from the Red Army?"

"Yes I do ma'am. My mission itself was a mission meant to make contact between our two worlds brought to Falmart, or the Special Region as you call it, with the intention of peaceful coexistence and cooperation."

"Very well then Mr. Volkov, there is still a few more topics that we must discuss in this inquiry."

"Of course."

"During your escape, there was a battle involving a reptile referred to as a dragon. Why did it come to your aid?"

"That dragon is called Maximus and it is the partner of my private contractor."

"The native inhabitant of Falmart that was acting as your guide and aided in your escape?"

"Yes, though she is not from the continent itself, rather an archipelago to the south."

"Reports from the medical staff at Alnus said that she faked an injury and attacked them once in the infirmary."

"Yes she did."

"Did you order her to do that?"

"No, she did that of her own violation. If I had, I would have been in the infirmary in my underwear."

"Was she responsible for the deaths or injuries of any SDF or American personnel besides the SDF personnel she injured in the infirmary?"

"No, in fact she was very active in preventing the loss of life."

"Why do you say that?"

"She has some skill in...spirit magic, not that I ever thought that I would utter those words and incapacitated two United States Marines without the need for violence or lethal means."

"The two assigned to guarding the barracks that held your men?"

"Yes ma'am."

"If she had this skill, why did you find it necessary to shoot and kill two SDF personnel?"

"From what I observed she was not extremely adept in its use and it appears to be a skill requiring a high degree of concentration and time to use properly. She tried to incapacitate the two SDF personnel in the same manner as the marines, but we were discovered before she could and as a result I made the decision to shoot and kill the SDF soldiers."

"So you did fire with the intent to kill? Not just to wound?"

"Yes ma'am, I fired twice at center mass in the chest where the heart and lungs are located."

"I see. And your wounds that you received, how were they healed?"

"By the wood elf Luella, which I'm sure you've seen or heard of her ability by now."

"One final topic to discuss before we finish this hearing Lieutenant."

"Of course."

"Why did you come here exactly?"

"To repair the damage caused by these unfortunate events, just as Mr. Sugawara is doing the same right now before my government and the Politburo ma'am."

"Thank you, there will be no further questions."

"Thank you as well ma'am, and I must extend not only my gratitude, but that of the Soviet Union and her people at your hospitality and civil response to an unfortunate situation."

xxx

Feliks sighed and leaned his head against the cool stone wall of the washroom and closed his eyes for a moment, thankful that the hearing was over.

Had he said too much? Too little? Had he been rude, or not been regretful enough? Had be come across as too brusque or uncaring? Whatever he had done, it was done now and for better or for worse this matter was most likely closed, at least for the moment. Now it would be up to men who were much better spoken and much better versed in politics than he was. He had joined the regular army to get out of political missions, not get involved in more of them.

He stared dumbly at a faucet without a handle for a moment unsure of how to work it. He fondled it for a moment, looking for something to turn or move, but he found nothing. Then as if on its own water started flowing and he cupped his hands and splashed water on his face. The water stopped and he stared at it for a moment before swiping his hand underneath it again and watched the water begin to flow again. There was a small glass or plastic panel below the faucet that looked like it may contain a sensor. Would wonders never cease?

Thankfully the washroom had paper towels and that Feliks was at least familiar with. As Feliks left the washroom he was confronted by a more elderly man in a suit and tie, but he looked Russian, not Japanese.

"Can I help you?" asked Feliks in Japanese.

"I hope so," answered the man in Russian.

"What can I do for you comrade?" asked Feliks switching to Russian, but wary of this newcomer.

"Ah, it does an old heart good to hear that said once again. My name is Vasily Myshkin, ambassador of the Russian Federation to Japan. It is good to meet you comrade Volkov, you did well in your hearing for one of your age."

"I thank you for your praise comrade, but I felt that I could have done much better."

"You could have," agreed the elderly ambassador.

"If I may comrade, what is it that you want?"

"I just wished to let you know that the Russian Federation is more than eager to develop friendly relations with your Union and that we hope to make a beneficial partnership between our two states."

"I will be sure to pass that on comrade, but I have no authority to promise anything."

"Of course. Your Union though, will it be sending diplomats here to Japan?"

"I would assume so comrade. I can't say for sure, but it would make sense," said Feliks.

"Of course, of course, things like this take time to develop and take shape. I will however, offer you and your party an invitation to visit the embassy of the Russian Federation this evening or any evening that you wish as long as you are in Tokyo."

"I appreciate the offer comrade Myshkin, but I do not know if we will be in Japan long enough for that to happen."

"Of course. Just do remember comrade Volkov, that the Russian Federation is open and willing to friendship. Ah, that does feel good to say again," said the ambassador, a smile on his face as if remembering past glory. "Do take care comrade Volkov."

"You as well Comrade Myshkin," said Feliks.

Xxx

"Why are we going to take the subway?" asked Luella perplexed.

"Yes, I would like to know that too," said Feliks displeased at the new turn of events.

They were all assembled in another break room in the Diet building, Soviets, Japanese, Elves, mages, Falmartians, and Messalonians.

"Well, so far as I understand it, there was a fire at the hotel we were staying at and they're saying it looks like arson, so the Security Police Division are trying to keep us off of the radar," said Itami. "The fire started on the floor we were staying on so they're worried that some activist groups that have been opposed to us operating the GATE have taken to more violent means to protest. They're worried that we may be in danger."

"It started on our floor?" asked Tuka after raising her hand.

"Yes, but don't worry, no one was hurt," said Itami, smiling at the elf who smiled back. Then shared a guilty look with Luella.

 _Earlier that morning_

"This is so neat," exclaimed Luella, flicking on and off the thing called a TV, watching it go from black, to showing an image of a woman speaking Japanese. "How do they make things like this? Is it magic?

"Look at this," said Tuka, holding up a metal rod as she emerged from the bathroom.

"What's that?"

"Shino told me that it's called a curling iron. It's supposed to be for your hair."

"Neat, Let's try it," said Luella, images of stylish ringlets dancing through her head as she made a grab for it.

"Wait, it's hot," warned Tuka too late as the 'young' wood elf grabbed the curling iron, only to yelp and draw her hand back, a small burn on her finger.

"Ow! Owwwwwwwwww!" moaned Luella holding her hand.

"Here, let me see," said Tuka tossing the curling iron off to the side.

"Owwwwwww!" mewled Luella.

"It's alright," soothed Tuka, grabbing hold of the younger elf's hand and blowing on the finger, used her own healing magic to treat it, cupping it with her hands that exuded a golden glow. The newly forming blister disappearing and the reddening skin turning back to it's original tone.

"Thanks Tuka, that feels much better now."

"You're welcome, sorry I didn't tell you that it was hot sooner. Hey, this is nice. It's so soft, what's it made of?" asked Tuka feeling the kimono. The hot curling iron forgotten near the bed where it had been tossed.

With that knowing and guilty look that they shared, both elfin girls made a solemn promise without using magic or having to communicate other than with that single look. A promise that neither of them would say a single word about this for the rest of their eternal lives.

AN: Well that's another chapter and relatively quickly too I might say. Well to answer a few questions, there will be much to come of hot demi-human chicks since that was one of the perks of GATE. I probably won't have Feliks go on a murder spree of the crimelords in the capital since that I want to keep my story fairly original (as it can be being a reinterpretation of existing literature). You'll find out who the person taking photos is in the next chapter, and other than that I think it covers everything.

Remember to read and review and if you don't you're an Imperialist Bourgeoisie running dog of the capitalist empires :)


	10. Chapter 10

"Your worship, to what do we owe the great honor of your presence among us?" asked Octavian, kneeling on the loamy forest soil before the Apostle of Hardy. Careful to keep his tone humble, polite, and reverent. No matter the god you worshiped in life, you always paid proper homage to an apostle of another. Especially one from Hardy, who's tendency for capricious, even apocalyptic diversions was well known. The goddess of the underworld ever meddling in the affairs of the mortals that she was responsible for after death.

"I wish to extend to you the honor of serving me Imperial. The honor for both you and your men. That is, if you aren't too busy," cooed the Apostle, idly playing with the massive scythe on his shoulder.

The Apostle was what many would have described as a rather effeminate man, with his long flowing dark hair, sun kissed skin, and slender body. Yet to mistake that slenderness for weakness was a fools mistake. An apostle was of godly strength and power encased in a fleshy prison of mortal flesh and blood. Though without its frailty. One merely had to look into the blood red eyes of the Apostle to know that he was not merely mortal.

One merely had to look at the quartet of Messalonian Draconian Knights and the deference that they showed. Perhaps even fear, a fear that of all the knights, their squires, followers, footmen, and even Octavian's own mounted legionnaires showed. A fear only seemingly exempt from the ferocious dragons of the Messalonians.

"With great regret your worship, I find that I must decline your most magnanimous offer. My men and I have sworn an oath to the Empire and in such times we are bound by it more than ever. Were that we free from obligation, and with proper blessing from our Empire, we would happily assist you. Alas, regretfully we cannot your worship," finished Octavian, careful to keep his eyes downcast from the messenger of Hardy.

"Hmm, such oaths to mortal rulers truly are troublesome. Though I would not want oathbreakers following me around, even if the oath is as gossamer as the one you are bound by. Still, I do wonder how I could resolve this? I do need, well, rather want you to join with me, yet you are bound to another. I have it!" cried the apostle suddenly with adulation.

"I absolve you of any and all oaths that currently bind you by the authority granted to me by Hardy herself. There, now that you are free of any binding obligations you are free to serve me now, are you not?" asked the Apostle rather chipper.

"Uh...your lordship, I'm afraid that it is not that simple," began Octavian, brain scrambling for a way to refuse and Apostle of Hardy without offense.

"Oh but it is. You see there is no authority higher than that of a gods' authority. As an apostle, I speak with the authority of a god. Well, _goddess_ to be precise. Hardy is most expectant that her desires be fulfilled and plans set into motions. She is a most demanding goddess. One that rewards those who serve her well, and punish those who disappoint her. Most severely."

There was no hiding the implied threat from the apostle. He wanted Octavian and his men to serve him. To what end, he did not know, but what he did no, was that if he offended an apostle, one who served such a capricious god as Hardy, his life and those of him men would be forfeit. Not to even speak of the afterlife that they would have to endure were they to offend the goddess of the underworld.

"So what do you say Imperial? Will you and your men join with me in my little quest, or will you refuse an apostle of Hardy? Well?" asked the man, if he still was one impatiently, bouncing the massive scythe off of his shoulder.

Despite the sick feeling of dread in his stomach and knowing he would be in dereliction of his duty, Octavian knew that he could not refuse a request from the Apostle. If he did, the lives, and afterlives of both he and his men would be forever forfeit.

"It would be an honor to be of service to the Goddess Hardy, before returning to our duties as legionnaires of the Empire," said Octavian carefully.

"Splendid," crowed the apostle, clapping his hands together. "You were so much easier to convince than my Messalonian cohorts. Can you imagine that they wanted to be _paid_ for aiding the Goddess of the Underworld? Well, they changed their tune quickly enough I can tell you. Isn't that right?"

"Yes. My lord," said one of the Mellalonians, his voice tight as he said it as if holding back more spiteful words for fear of what would happen were he to utter them.

"Now then Centurion Octavian, get your men together, we're heading West."

"To...Mt. Rubicon my lord?"

"What? Oh underworld no, we're going past that to a more useful place," replied the apostle glibly.

"I understand Apostle, your will be done," said Octavian, performing a salute by bringing his fist across his breast and keeping his head bowed. There was nothing else that he could do in the presence of the Apostle. His own weakness galling him to the core and shaming him.

"No. You really don't, and you won't for the time being. But you will," promised the dark haired envoy of Hardy. "I suppose that you want to know my name to call me by don't you? My name is Charon." Remember it, because I don't like having to repeat myself.

"Of course Lord Charon," answered Octavian, rising to his feet.

"Who told you to stand?"

"No one your lordship," answered Octavian sinking back down to a bended knee, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand on end at the simple tone that the Apostle was using.

"I am just jesting with you Centurion, stand if you so like. The dirt will stain your knee if you don't. Come along now, I like to travel at least twenty five miles in a day and we're already behind schedule now."

Octavian watched the retreating black cloaked form of the Apostle, wondering what exactly he had agreed to, and why it felt like he had just bartered with his soul.

The pace set by the Apostle wasn't relentless, but it allowed for no breaks. He traveled at a fast walk, but it was a pace that never varied and never slowed no matter the obstacles arrayed before them. He didn't speak to anyone unless he wanted something, seemingly content to stay lost within his own mind as they traveled. The massive scythe forever dangling over the edge of his shoulder like it weighed no more than a walking stick.

The Apostle didn't speak, but he didn't seem to mind the rest of his troupe talking, which they did. In low tones as to avoid possible offending or upsetting the Apostle with overly loud noises. The footmen of the Messalonians at the back of their column kept pace with the rest of them, despite the lack of breaks or horses. Their marching discipline seemed to equal that of the legion which Octavian had to give grudging respect to. Messalonians were expensive mercenaries, but they were still professional soldierly.

Then, when it seemed that Charon was satisfied with the distance that they had traveled for the day, he suddenly stopped, making the rest of the column come to a shuffling halt at the unexpected stop next to a meadow.

"I think here is a good place to set up camp for the night," declared Charon stretching his arms theatrically as if dramatically tired. "Be sure to have my tent set up when I get back from my walk in the woods."

Octavian watched him walk into the thick growth of the forest on the other side of the clearing and the Messalonians already running ahead with poles and fabric, hurriedly erecting a large black tent, bringing in furniture from carts to place inside. What kind of fear could drive these Messalonains to do this?

Yet even as Octavian asked the question, he knew what it was. It was the same fear that had made him agree to Charon's demands, for they had been demands. It seemed that the Messalonians had refused at first too. Their body language spoke of it in the outright fear that they viewed the Apostle with. How they jumped to his commands at the merest prodding.

The sun set rather quickly shortly after they had finished erecting their camp and setting a perimeter watch. An attack from bandits was unlikely, but it was still a possibility and this far out in the reaches of the Empire, orcs and goblins were a very real threat.

How long they would be allowed to rest was unclear, but Octavian knew that the Apostle would let them know when he wished to continue on and so gingerly Octavian removed his breastplate, careful to avoid disturbing the mass of bruises and half healed wounds. He set it on a mannequin stand and as he did so, he heard a rustle of fabric from someone entering his tent.

"Don't move," commanded a youthful and feminine voice, a steel point pressing into his back.

"If you are going to kill me do it quickly, I already ache from too many wounds."

"I have questions for you, ones that you will answer for me Imperial."

"I have no problems answering questions, even without a blade to my back," continued Octavian carefully so as to not upset the wielder of the sword behind him.

"Imperials speak with forked tongues. One requires steel to cut through their deception. Now, turn around, slowly."

Octavian did as he was commanded, careful to keep his hands in plain view. A raven haired youth with incredibly blue eyes confronted him, clad in plain steel armor, bereft of decoration in the Messalonian style of a thick breast plate with only thin coverings at the arms and legs. Favoring mobility to protection as was their way in war.

"What do you wish to know?"

"Quiet! I will be the one asking the questions here. Now, when we rode today, you spoke of a silver haired Messalonian knight with a blue dragon. Where did you see her last?"

"What concern is it to you?" asked Octavian, only to almost have a sword point thrust through his throat in response.

"That is no business of yours Imperial," hissed the girl venomously. "Now, tell me what you know. Now."

"Very well. I was to arrest a deserter by the name of Captain Ianthe, daughter to Acamus of the Skyraiders. Me and my men caught word of her in Blenheim and rode to apprehend her to have her face justice. When we reached her, she was drunk in a tavern and in no capacity to resist. Yet, when we made to take her into custody, we were attacked by the Mottled Men from Mt. Rubicon. My men were killed and I was left for dead. After that, I do not know what became of her or the Mottled Men who traveled with her."

"So. She was working with the Mottled Men," said the youth, anger seeping out of her voice, leaving it hollow and mournful. Blue eyes blinking several times rapidly in succession as if fighting away tears. "I will leave you then Imperial, and take my leave of this place as well."

"Won't C-"

"Do not speak his name!" said the youth suddenly and vehemently. Looking over her shoulder as if expecting to see him standing there like an oppressive shadow. "He knows when you speak of him using his name."

There was a way that she spoke of him, with an abject horror that could not help but fill Octavian with dread. To send a shiver of fear down his spine, to see such fear evoked by mere mention of the Apostle.

"You fear him, but you would still displease him by running away?"

"I run nowhere, but where I choose to Imperial. I am not bound by an oath made with a blade to my throat. I will ride all night and day if I must, but I will be his thrall no longer. I have a mission of my own to attend to. Do not tell of my intentions Imperial, or I will cut off your prick and shove it into your mouth so the gods themselves may laugh at you."

"I will do no such thing," promised Octavian, watching the youth retreat from his tent and into the starry night beyond.

The next day, a great howl of anger woke the camp and Octavian came from his tent sword in hand, to find Charon swinging his scythe in vicious arks around himself, face livid with rage. Inhuman even as it was twisted in his wroth.

"WHERE IS SHE! WHO LET HER FORSAKE HER VOW TO HARDY?! BRING ME HER HEAD OR I'LL TAKE ANOTHER TO TAKE IT'S PLACE!"

An hour later they had their camp disassembled and were marching yet again, gear in the carts and men on their mounts or in formation. Charon himself now in a more chipper mood, whistling even as they marched. The head of a legionnaire that had been on watch dangling from his scythe, eyes gouged out.

xxx

"I hope that your stay here has been most enjoyable Mr. Sugawara. Had we known about this more in advance we would have had better accommodations prepared for your stay. Then again, had we known about this whole affair in advance it wouldn't have happened at all."

Both Alexandrov and Sugawara were sitting in an upscale restaurant that routinely serviced members of the Politburo and high ranking Red Army officers. There was a small band playing classical music on a small stage off to the side and uniformed waiters walked back and forth, ensuring that the needs of their guests were met in every respect.

The food was of good quality and cooked to perfection, and the drink was of good brand and age. All in all it was a perfect place to wine and dine a foreign dignitary.

"Thank you General, but your nation's hospitality has been more than was necessary. I'm just glad that your Politburo was as willing as you were to overlook this incident between our two countries."

"As I said Mr. Sugawara, our countries gain nothing from fighting one another. I can only hope that what we have done will lead to a better understanding of our goals in this new world that we have discovered. I wouldn't wish to be any further conflict of interest between our nations over differing agendas."

"Neither would I, but seeing as you are the General in charge of your nation's expeditionary force, I would like to know what exactly are your goals for the Special Region?"

"Well, to be frank our primary goal is the defeat of the Empire, the eradication of slavery, and expanding the territory of the Soviet Union."

"Isn't it a little morally ambiguous to take land and territory away from a nation unable to resist?"

"I admit that it could be and we most likely wouldn't be proceeding as we were if they hadn't staged the worse massacre in the Soviet Union since the Great Patriotic War. However, I do believe that you are being a little hypocritical Mr. Sugawara."

"How so?"

"In essence, you are saying that my nation and I are taking advantage of a weaker and less advanced civilization which is morally wrong, but so are you and your nation. We are merely going about different ways of doing it."

"I can't say I agree Alexandrov. My nation is looking for an end to this conflict and for a peace to come about. We aren't sending tanks further into their territory to claim more land."

"But that's the difference between us. My Union and I are using hard power to achieve our goals. We are actively using our military might to achieve our objectives. Occupying and annexing the land and territory that we want. You on the other hand are using soft power to achieve your goals. To gain strategic resources and rights for the things that you want. You extend the olive branch of peace to a nation that has seen it can not resist you. That fears you. In exchange for the peace you offer they will sign any agreement or treaty that you put before them. No matter how unfair or one sided the treaties are. Without first telling them the value of the things that they are signing away to you. You allow the nations to still exist and remain in name, but they know that if they dare refuse any of your requests you can merely brush aside any attempts of theirs to stop you. That they stand on a precipice that you may push them over any time you please. More than that though, you are content to allow practices such as slavery to continue until such a time that the Empire can pass legislation of its own to end it. If they ever do. So in essence you are doing the same as us, but with a softer touch."

"That is not what my nation is doing General, and we are very adamant about ending the practice of slavery. We just aren't using it as a pretext to continue an invasion," said Sugawara curtly.

"No? So you don't have surveyors and prospectors from oil, gas, and mining companies scouring the countryside looking for useful deposits? I thought so," said Alexandrov to Sugawara's silence.

"You seem to also not understand the gravity of what we have done in this new world Mr. Sugawara. What we are responsible for now."

"I am well aware of what we have done General and the death we have caused, but I am also aware of what Imperialistic ambitions will do to these people. My world has seen the effects of such ambitions, my own nation guilty of it and we see no wish to repeat those mistakes. We have propelled them into contact with a civilization potentially a thousand years forward and completely changed the way that they live."

"If they live," said Alexandrov taking a sip of vodka.

"What do you mean by that General?" asked Sugawara, an edge in his voice.

"You seem like you are an educated man Mr. Sugawara, given your position you would have to be, but history is a rather separate subject, especially political sciences or economics that you most likely majored in. You don't seem to fully understand how the Imperial Army operates."

"I have been well briefed on their abilities and their numbers, as well as their hierarchy and political relevance within the Empire. I know a great deal about the Imperial Legions."

"But do you know how they march?"

"Is this a joke General?"

"No, it is not a joke. An army moves on its stomach, this is true even today and though our mounts have changed from horses to main battle tanks, those vehicles are still hungry for diesel. The biggest challenge for us has been supplying adequate amounts of food, equipment, and fuel through our GATE even though it is larger than yours by a factor of four. Logistics is the hardest aspect to manage in warfare. If you have more fuel, more food, and more ammo than your enemy you can outmaneuver, outlast, and outfight them. Now these are the difficulties we face as a modern military when it comes to logistics."

"Now imagine our feudal counterparts in Falmart. The majority of supplies that they must carry is either on pack animals, or carts that said animals can pull. Now where we are in the Empire, we are in the southernmost region of it, some hundred miles from the coast. The infrastructure is lacking where we are and the population centers are mostly small villages. The Empire, at least where we are, does not have a modern, or even semi-modern supply or logistics system."

"I fail to see the point of this General."

"You will. Now a medieval army, this is including the Empire despite its standardized equipment is never the best at logistics. It's too hard to organize, too costly to implement over vast distances, and word travels too slowly. Food will not last, or arrive in sufficient quantities from their storehouses in the more metropolitan areas to sustain so many men and beasts as they sent at us. So, how their army and camp following behaves is like a swarm of locusts. They take the supplies that they need as they travel from villages and towns. Merchant contacts when they can and when it's convenient. Now these small farming villages, they buy what they can, or what the farmers are willing to sell, but if they need more they merely take it. If the farmers resist they are killed. Crucified to be exact. Many of the villages that we've come across have been stripped bare of nearly all livestock and grain. Their seed crop even taken from them, which means that they have nothing to plant for next harvest. 150 000 men need an atrocious amount of food to keep functioning, even on marching rations. As my men have come across these villages, they have been close to starvation, hunting what game they can and boiling bark and roots to try and make some sort of stew. As of right now I have nearly 4000 escaped slaves living in Camp Zhukov and my Union is feeding a further 6000 villagers in the area surrounding our encampment. We are providing them with wheat seed to plant, repairing damage done by the Empire, and providing security against roving bandits and remnants of the army we defeated."

"So you are saying that even though you are expanding you are at least being a humanitarian about it?"

"It's an obligation of ours. Even if we were to only plan the destruction of the Empire, we couldn't merely firebomb the capital and be done with it. With every battle we fight we weaken the control of the Empire, with every legionnaire defeated, we weaken the internal security of the Empire. Just toppling the leadership doesn't mean freedom and happiness for the people, or that they will merely stop fighting, it means chaos. Roaming bands of bandits, warlords carving out their own fiefdoms from the wreckage. No longer secure lines of commerce or supply from rural agricultural areas to metropolitan production ones, which will lead to starvation on a grand scale. Add to this secretarian violence, slave revolts, peasant revolts, food riots, and you have the recipe for a failed state that will take decades to make functional again," continued Alexandrov, taking another small sip of vodka.

"That is another reason we are progressing as slowly as we are. With 10 000 men I could defeat the Empire, utterly crush their ability to fight. However, I would not be able to provide security or stability in the vacuum created afterwords. I would not be able to administer or deliver an effective system of government that my government wishes me to have. That is why I have some 200 000 Soviet Personnel under my command Mr. Sugawara. To not only ensure victory, but stability."

"So you're saying then that your mission is more of a humanitarian one? That although you are conquering and subjugating a people it's alright, because at least you have a plan about how you're going to proceed? I'm afraid I don't and can't agree with that mentality General. You're saying that these people can't effectively govern themselves and so you need to do so. That they are primitive and therefore in need of the guidance and stability that you can provide. That somehow they are your burden that you must bear. My government and I don't believe in doing that. We had our time of Imperialism and we rejected it. We are only taking an area that is proportional to the needs of the defense of our nation against further further aggression or intrusion." Alexandrov couldn't help but chuckle at Sugawara.

"I do enjoy the self righteous attitude of the West and it seems that Japan is no different. Your security zone that you have asked for is a hundred leagues in radius, you've told me this yes?"

"That is the amount we're thinking about taking to the peace treaties yes."

"You do know that one of their leagues is equivalent to three of our miles correct? That you are asking for, in essence, an area larger than both Germanies and the lowlands combined? How would that translate for the people living in your new territory granted to you for 'defense'? Would you leave them to their own devices? Foreign citizens on your soil, but with no rights? Would you grant then Japanese Citizenship and all the rights and privileges that come with it? For those that refused, what would become of their homes? Would you grant them land that the lords held for them to work, even if they didn't wish to become Japanese Citizens? Or would you kick them out of your territory, people with nothing and nowhere to go? Would you teach them your language and educate them, or leave their previous system in place in bid to preserve their culture?"

"Those are things that must be decided upon with consultation with both our own government and that of the people in the Special Region. We can not simply make a unilateral decision based purely on what we think is best. That isn't how a nation conducts good politics or good policy."

"So what you are telling me then Mr. Sugawara is that you don't have a plan in place for the people who will be living in your new territory. That you forge ahead with some vision of righteousness without having considered all possible avenues that could come of your actions? You decry our plan as quite frankly wrong for how a nation should behave, and yet you have no plan of your own in place. Or even an _idea_ of what your plan will be. Let me ask you one simple question Mr. Sugawara. Once you sign peace with the Empire, or topple its government, whichever it is that the Empire chooses, then what? What do you do _after_ you win? Will you then form a plan when the Empire is in anarchy? Furthermore, what does America want done? Any decision made will most likely need their approval will it not? Don't get me wrong, my nation's plans are not the kindest, but you see I truly do want to help the people of Falmart. For better or for worse we are both committed to this endeavor now."

"You are well spoken General and well educated and your point has merit, but let me ask you the same question now. What will your government do if people object and do not wish to live under Soviet rule?"

"We will fight them if they choose to fight, let them leave if they choose to leave, but those who stay will have modern infrastructure and learning provided. They will however, be granted citizenship to the Soviet Union with all the rights and privileges that come with it. My Union lacks the certain aura of...xenophobia that Japan seems to fond of."

"So their choices are submit, die, or abandon everything? It sounds to me that you are guilty of everything that you accuse us of being guilty of. I would even say more, seeing as how you are forcing them to become your citizens."

"Perhaps I am, but the difference between us is that I don't sugarcoat what it is that we are going to do. I don't try to spin it. We have our objectives and we will push towards them relentlessly until they are achieved or else we no longer wish to pursue them. We will respect your wishes to the extend that you respect ours in Falmart, or your Special Region. Heh, all this talk of politics is souring my mood Mr. Sugawara. This night is supposed to be about relaxing, not continuing our political debates. Tomorrow we must resume our regular duties, so I suggest that for tonight we dispense with business and instead turn to leisure. Too much work can drive a man insane."

"I think you may be right General, my mood has been souring."

"A little bit of vodka will fix that quite quickly," assured Alexandrov pouring from a clear bottle.

xxx

"I have to pee," said Luella, moving from foot to foot. She was changed out of her kimono and instead was in regular street clothes complete with boots, a thick sweater, and a toque that hid her elvish ears quite well. All of them had changed in to street clothes in fact. Everyone that is except for the priestess Rory Mercury, who even now was in a hurry to get out of the subway.

"Right now?" asked Feliks to which the elf nodded quickly.

"Alright it's just right over there. We'll be right here if you need us," said Feliks, half to the retreating form of the elf as she rushed to the washroom. Bursting inside and slamming the door to a stall closed, shortly thereafter sighing in relief.

Luella was humming happily as she washed her hands in the washroom, still marveling at the seemingly endless and on demand water that the Japanese had access to. Though it smelled different than normal water.

The sanitation in this city was much better than any of the other ones that she had seen or heard of in Falmart. Here, your, umm, waste was taken away merely by pushing a button or pressing a lever and the smell of sewage was not overpowering or even present in many cases. Even the garbage normally produced in human cities was taken away and packaged instead of being thrown from windows to the ground below. Though how far the ground went with these 'subways' interested Luella. She had heard Boris and Feliks refer to it as the metro, but she didn't know what the difference was. So caught up in her thoughts was she that Luella didn't pay any attention to another woman come into the washroom.

She looked into the mirror in front of her and saw a woman standing behind her, rather closely and she stopped humming. There was a look in the woman's eyes that made her very uneasy. Before Luella could turn around the woman had grabbed her and put a hand over her mouth before she could even so much as let out a yelp of surprise.

She struggled against the woman briefly, but she was strong and the hands holding her were like iron bands. There was a sharp pinch in her neck and Luella saw some kind of needle with a vial attached to it being depressed into her neck in the mirror. Luella didn't struggle long though. She felt her limbs start to deaden and her vision blurred before darkening. She was vaguely aware of her legs buckling as she surrendered to the thoughtless embrace of unconsciousness.

The woman who had drugged Luella, opened a large gym bag on the floor and began deflating a large and cylindrical object inside to make room for the elfin girl. It would have been too suspicious to go into the washroom with an empty bag and come out with a full one, so an inflatable bag had been put to give it some girth. The scuff of shoes on tile made her look up quickly.

Xxx

Ianthe's mind processed three things at once when she entered the washroom to see how Luella was doing. The ever sweet and somewhat meek elf Luella laying prone as if under sleep magic, a dark haired woman emptying a large bag, and her own insurmountable rage.

Ianthe rushed forwards without thinking and bringing her foot back like she was kicking a ball, she kicked the woman kneeling on the ground in the head, watching her tumble end over end, skidding to a stop on the tiled floor. Before she could try to rise, Ianthe was atop her and raining blows down.

Pinning her down beneath her superior size and weight, Ianthe struck down with near impunity, opening gashes in the woman's face and freeing a tooth in a spray of bloody enamel. As she was bringing her fist back for another strike a flash of silver falling in front of her face made her bring her hand up to her throat in time to get a pair of fingers between a metal wire and her throat.

Ianthe managed to bring herself to her feet, despite the woman behind her doing her best to strangle and pull her to the ground, the metal wire cutting into Ianthe's hand. Using her advantage in strength, Ianthe pushed back, slamming the woman behind her into first a wall, then into the mirror handing along the row of sinks, cracking the reflective glass and making shards fall from the wall. Her boots making high pitched squeaking and squealing noises as they struggled across the smooth floor.

Ianthe shook herself like a great bear, trying to throw the woman off of her, but she held firm, even redirecting some of Ianthe's attempted throws, trying to throw her off balance and causing her face to bounce off of the bathroom wall several times, bruising and scraping it, making her head swim with each repeated blow.

Ianthe's breath hitched as the wire slipped past her fingers and wrapped firmly around her neck, tightening like a snake around her throat, immediately making a feeling of numbness spread across her face. She hit back hard, but her strikes against the woman behind her unable to break her hold on her.

Vision starting to gray, Ianthe's hand searched for anything that could help her, closing around a fragment from the mirror, jagged and the size of a small knife. She gripped it in her hand, edges cutting her hand and drove into the woman's thigh with a _squelch_ of flesh being parted.

The woman cried out in pain behind her and the wire loosened, allowing Ianthe to breathe again which she did greedily, even as she struck the end of the glass shard to drive it further into the woman's leg. In her pain, the wire became only a loose noose while Ianthe slipped it off of her neck and grabbed the woman behind her, performing a basic throw that she's been taught since her childhood. Bringing the woman over her shoulder and to the ground below. As she laid dazed, Ianthe stomped viciously on her throat, driving all of her weight behind her booted foot, a soft _crunch_ rewarding her efforts.

There was no time for respite though, the first woman still bleeding profusely from the gashes on her face was already up and lunging at her with a long needle instrument. She was fast and knew how to use it, but Ianthe had been practicing knife drills since she was six years old and adopted the preferred _coda in acciaio_ s stance, or steel tail stance. Using her off hand arm as a shield against the thrusting point if she would not be able to deflect it. Ianthe dodged around thrusts from the pointed needle like blade, constantly on the lookout for an opening to exploit.

The woman was well trained, quick, and knew how to keep her balance when she thrust out. Drawing it back to her, Ianthe slapped away several thrusts, the leather sleeves of her coat protecting her arm from possible cuts from the thin blade. Knocking back the woman's head several times with lightning quick punches, one of which succeeded in crushing her nose in a rupture of blood and cartilage.

Perhaps frustrated, or lacking time, the dark haired woman tried an aggressive lunge for Ianthe, over extending herself in the process. Advancing into the thrust, Ianthe caught the woman's arm and forced it into a lock, then leveraging the woman, slammed her head several times onto the counter with the sinks, bloodying it, before forcing her against the wall, receiving repeated strikes in kind from the dark haired woman as she attempted to break free.

Having the other woman against the wall, Ianthe used her elbow to strike her head, bouncing it off the wall to her back with a meaty _thunk_ every time it rebounded until a growing red stain decorated the wall and left her slack in her grip. Ianthe finished by bringing her elbow down atop the dark haired woman's head, watching her crumple.

Ianthe was breathing hard as the woman slumped down, half from exertion and half from the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. Wiping at the bloody scratches on her face from the woman's flailing arm.

She turned around to see another man, dark haired and similar features to the other two standing in the doorway, a metal object in his hand. A gun, like the Soviets used. Ianthe froze, what could she do against one of the objects that spat fire and metal?

Yet behind the man came Feliks, quietly and quickly, grabbing him in a way that brought the weapon off to the side, before a flash of metal struck the man in the side of the neck and then under the armpit. There was a look on Feliks' face as he did it. A blank look, one without emotion even as he held the man in his death throes, preventing him from holding his neck to half to flow of blood, with an equally alarming amount coming from under his arm. Hand clamped firmly over his mouth to stop any sound from escaping. Feliks lowered him to the ground carefully, taking the gun from his hand once he had stopped struggling, foot twitching idly.

"Okay?" asked Feliks looking at her.

Ianthe cast a glance at the two women that she had beat to death in the washroom, before looking back at Feliks.

"Yes. Okay," she replied, giving a Messalonian gesture for yes, flashing a smile from her bloodied face.

She went over to Feliks and the prone form of the elf, watching as he put him hand on the side of her neck and then his ear in front of her mouth.

"Carry," said Feliks in Common, gesturing for Ianthe to pick up the small elf.

Ianthe put her arms underneath the petite girl, a wave of guilt coming over her as she did so. All of this that was happening to the elf, from the Diet to this was her fault. She had pushed, pressured the elf into being able to get her to be able to come with Feliks to the Japanese homeland. Now, she didn't know if the elf would ever wake up. If, when she did, Ianthe promised that if took the rest of her life, she would make it up to Luella. Whatever it took.

xxx

Feliks put up an _out of order_ sign on the entrance to the washroom, deterring people from entering for a little while anyways. There was little possibility of hiding a triple homicide like this. Given time, he could move the bodies, dismember them and dispose of them, but without a support team and in a major metropolitan area under close escort like he was, he could scarce do more than that.

Ianthe followed close behind him, her ice chip blue eyes constantly scanning the area around them, wary for any more attacks on them or the small elf.

Whoever had done it was either very confident or entirely stupid. Did they really think that they could snatch a diplomat from a group and get away with it unnoticed? Then again, maybe they didn't care if they were noticed. They had been armed, with guns that lacked silencers in a crowded city like Tokyo. Even where Feliks came from, where the cold war was routinely called the murder war by those in the KGB and the GRU for the amount of blood that was covertly shed away from prying eyes, they would never consider being so open about it.

Perhaps a traffic accident, a suicide note, making someone simply disappear in the middle of the night, but never something like this in broad daylight. Either they were rank amateurs or they were incredibly desperate, both possibilities worried Feliks tremendously. You could anticipate what professionals would do to an extent. Understand what their motives would be, what they would be willing to do to achieve their objective, and how to avoid it.

With amateurs, you could be walking in a crowded mall and they would start spraying with an Uzi indiscriminately trying to take you out. Messy, disorganized, impossible to hide. Yet even as Feliks thought of all the different reasons that someone would try to take Luella, he couldn't help but feel an intense rage and bloodlust build inside of him.

The one girl, the one person who never wished harm upon anyone or anything, that only ever tried to help all she met had been their target. They had _hurt_ her, and Feliks felt the old him, the one that he thought he had left behind in the jungles of Vietnam coming to the fore again, just as it had when he had killed the man with the gun.

They left the metro and found Itami and the rest of the group waiting for them. Most seemed to have no idea what had transpired, especially with Luella merely looking like she was sleeping peacefully, cradled as she was in Ianthe's arms.

"She must have been exhausted from today, we found her sleeping in the washroom," lied Feliks easily.

"And you got her out of there like that?" asked Itami surprised.

"Well, Ianthe did. I don't really want to make the nightly news," said Feliks with a short laugh that sounded natural.

"I suppose not. Komakado doesn't like waiting though, Come on."

"Alright," said Feliks, following Feliks, but distracted by a laugh and girlish giggle, seeing the creepy girl Rory Mercury staring at both him and Ianthe. She licked her lips and smiled coyly at them, her lipstick a dark purple in color.

She went between him and Ianthe, grabbing hold of his arm and smiling up at him, revolting a part of Feliks, but another part of him analyzing how quickly he could kill her and with what.

"I knew I was right when I said you _reeked_ of death," giggled the apostle. "Next time you two give praise to Emroy in such a joyous way, I want to join in too. It would be absolutely sublime."

xxx

At the mine that Alexandrov had ordered his men to liberate known locally as the Big Deep, he and his intelligence officers had been expecting some 20 000 people in need of liberation, food, shelter, and medical attention. However, their estimates had proven to be far too conservative. The Big Deep linked to dozens of other mines, perhaps hundreds. Some were open pit, but many more were shaft mines, reaching deep into the earth like greedy tumors. Instead of 20 000 slaves they had found over 50 000 souls once the shanty towns that had serviced the guards were taken into account. A veritable city set in the winding catacombs of narrow tunnels held up by creaky boards, brittle nails, and luck. With every new tunnel they explored, another dozen glossy eyed stick thin slaves were found.

It had been only a few days since his return, but Alexandrov had already erected a massive tent city outside the walls of Camp Zhukov when it became apparent that they would not have the barracks room to process all of the newcomers without disrupting the settlers from the Union or kicking his own men out of Barracks. That being said, Alexandrov had still managed to find room for 20 000 inside the walls of Camp Zhukov. The elderly, women, and children were chosen, but even those would have to be vetted out for the healthiest to avoid the spread of disease. With more being brought from the mines every day, that number of 20 000 would fill quite quickly.

In his course of his duties, he had almost forgotten about the delegation that they had sent to Japan, well, the _other_ Japan, but he had been assured that they would be arriving back soon and in good health.

The flow of traffic from the Gate had increased, but instead of tanks, fuel, or ammunition; they brought doctors, nurses, antibiotics, and medicine. Many of those they had rescued were malnourished, sickly, and quite weak. The worst of which were the ones rescued from the shaft mines. All but blind in the light of the sun, they had been forced to tie bands around their eyes to spare them the agony their long disused retinas would bring them. It would take a great deal of time to readjust them to the outside world again. Some would simply not survive, others were expected to return to full health quite quickly. There were still many more to come though, columns of Ural trucks brought them in every hour, all needing treatment, and all needing food.

Despite the monumental logistical and humanitarian task it had turned into, the resources of the Soviet Union were as near infinite as its reserves of manpower. The stroke of a pen from Alexandrov had seen those considerable resources put to use. The past few days had been hectic with near all other operations ceasing completely to cope with the influx. The average motostreleki found himself not practicing shooting skills or land navigation, instead he found himself spending all day setting up tents and digging latrines. Such actions had yielded some rather...unexpected results though.

The now freed slaves revered the Soviets as not quite gods, but deities all the same. Offerings were left at the concrete walls almost surrounding the camp. Handmade jewelry, candles, flowers, parcels of food, anything and everything that the slaves could spare, and some things they couldn't were left as offerings. The Communist party was officially atheist and the irony of the situation was not lost on Alexandrov in the slightest. Rissien had told him that the freed slaves saw the Soviets, or Mottled Men as they called them, like angels that had finally answered their prayers and delivered them from their misery. Their weapons and technology had made them seem all the more ethereal.

As fate would have it, it seemed that the largest group that had made up almost an entire third of the mine had consisted not of humans, but rather warrior bunnies. It seemed that after the Prince Zolzal had conquered their lands, many of those sold into slavery were either taken into the sex trade or the mines. So in the very near future, some 15 000 warrior bunnies would soon call Camp Zhukov home.

"Do you have everything you need Doctor?"

"I believe so. To be honest General we haven't even finished unpacking all of our supplies, but we're getting crates full of penicillin, painkillers, anesthetics, and basic anti inflammatory and antihistamine medications. I didn't even know they came in crates," said the doctor with a short laugh. He was typical of the current era of Soviet doctors, young and eager to work. With Nearly 65% of the Soviet Union under the age of 30 and that margin growing they had earned the name the young empire. Though Alexandrov disliked the word empire put in with the Soviet Union.

"Nothing is lacking then?"

"No. I've got manifests of well, everything either arriving or already here. I don't even know how this was all assembled so quickly. I mean a lot of this stuff can take a while to get the paperwork through for. It's fairly restricted. Supplies are good anyways, just could use more hands to help with the work. The motostrelekis are a good help at doing the grunt work, but they can't sort through patients. Setting up triages and diagnosing everyone has me and my colleagues stretched way too thin. Even with the medical staff from Zhukov we're not sure how we're going to do it. They're pulling in people from all over to help with this, I mean I'm from Isida Hospital in Kiev."

"You'll find that when the Red Army wants something it gets it in rather short order. As for more medical personnel we've put in a request for the Universities around Kiev to temporarily halt their studies of all their medical students and allow them to lend you assistance. Obviously first year students will be exempt for lack of sufficient knowledge, but you'll be getting all the rest of them. They should be some help at the very least. We're also redirecting every medic, dentist, doctor, and nurse that we can spare from all surrounding units in the Ukraine. I think that you'll have all the hands you need Doctor."

"Oh, well, that should be more than enough. I guess the Red Army hasn't changed much from when I mustered out. They have you sit forever, but when they say jump you hit the roof and keep going."

"We may be inactive at times, but we're never lazy. What unit did you serve in?"

"I was with the 45th AA division in Germany General. Nice country."

"Yes, very beautiful. It was good to meet you Doctor, but I'm afraid I must continue my inspection, there is still a lot more of the camp to see."

"Of course General, thank you for stopping by," said the Doctor shaking Alexandrov's hand before returning to the inside of his drab army issue tent, sorting through the boxes of medical supplies with his staff.

Alexandrov continued his walk on the grassy turf through the massive tent city, flanked by his protection detail of sptesnaz guards and a few staff officers. Many of the soldiers around him were so involved in their tasks digging latrines or setting up tents that they didn't all notice him and Alexandrov left them to continue working. They had more important things to do than salute or stand at attention. As Alexandrov went deeper into the camp, he began to hear more voices speaking words he didn't understand and the activity seemed more frantic. They weren't raised in anger or hysteria, rather it was the sound of thousands of voices merely conversing with each other. The smell of antiseptic and soap became more overpowering the further in they went, with hundreds of showers set up for the freed slaves to both clean themselves from the mine and remain clean. Most of them here were wearing surplus PT clothing of simple gray shorts and shirt. Peering out from inside their drab green tents with cautious as Alexandrov passed, sitting on their cots. Others were still in the coarse garments they had worn in the mines, filthy and ragged as they were and had yet to be processed. Standing or milling around seemingly aimlessly.

The heat had abated thankfully meaning they didn't have to worry too much about heat dehydration, though it would definitely still be a concern. Despite himself, Alexandrov distanced himself from one refugee, a Medusa creature whose snaky mane hissed and raised itself at his approach. The Union demanded tolerance for all races, but what of those whose existence was sustained by feeding on the life force of others? Such were questions that he didn't have the answer for at the moment.

"Rissien, why are all the bunny women missing half of an ear?"

"It's a sign of servitude and slavery for a warrior bunny, General. When one of their ears is cut off it signifies their defeat and subjugation," answered the elf dutifully.

"What is the point of such mutilation though?"

"So that the slave and everyone they meet will forever know that they are a slave General. A slave is a slave for life in the Empire unless they are a gladiator and are awarded freedom."

"That is something that I intend to change Rissien. In Short order," said Alexandrov, his voice taking on a growl as he felt his anger rise, his pace quickening.

They stopped and spoke to several more doctors and officers, as well as a few common soldiers for a few words. They all seemed to say the same thing really: things were going good and they had all the supplies they needed, they just needed more hands to help with the work, as well as more clothing for the new arrivals. Merely two sets of clothing for each arrival would be a 100 000 shirts, a 100 000 shorts, a 100 000 pairs of socks, and a 100 000 undergarments. A monumental task in its own right. Not to mention the fact that they didn't have shoes that would fit most of the freed slaves.

Alexandrov walked deeper into the camp, lost in thought of how to bring enough water into the camp for both consumption and hygiene. Zhukov was supplied by both underground sources and a river that ran down the mountain to merge with a larger river. An aqueduct perhaps could be constructed? A few pumps, some pipes and they'd have all the fresh purified water they could handle. Lost in his musings he almost missed it.

It was a foot, calloused and dirty sticking out from the edge of a tent, only barely visible and near the edge of the forest. Alexandrov stopped and looked. It could be someone resting, but it didn't appear to be that.

Careful not to trip on the tent pegs, Alexandrov cut in between two of the tents and found a woman, one of the warrior bunnies missing half of an ear in a dirty dress face down on the ground. Ignoring protests from his bodyguards, Alexandrov was quickly at the girls side, and rolled her over. She was covered and dirt and filthy, but she was sweating profusely, and her pulse was rapid and fluttery when he put a finger to her neck. The arm of her dress was dark and soaked through, rolling it up revealed a nasty gash that was swollen with infection and filled with dirt. Her eyes fluttered beneath their lids, her breathing shallow.

Without even needing to think about it, Alexandrov put his arms under the girl's brown furred legs and another under her back. In one smooth motion he lifted her up, far too light for her size, but emaciation having taken its toll on her.

He carried her quickly, bodyguards and aides clearing a path to a medical triage station. It smelled of alcohol and antiseptic in the tent. He set her down on a cot and soon doctors and nurses were swarming around her, washing the dirt off of her and cutting back the shirt to reveal the gash that cut deeply into her arm. Angry yellow pus bubbling up from the torn flesh, foul smelling and viscous.

Alexandrov was still standing over her, when her eyes fluttered open, a deep jade green and fixed on him. She looked at him for half a moment, before her eyes rolled buck up inside her head and she lost consciousness again. Falling slack against the white cotton sheets of the medical cot.

"Will she be alright?" asked Alexandrov to one of the present doctors.

"It's too early to tell sir, but we'll have to get some fluids into her right away. We will need space to work."

"Of course, I'll leave you to it," said Alexandrov leaving the medical tent and stepping out into the bright noonday sun. He stopped when he saw a large gathering of the refugees present outside the tent, most of them warrior bunnies. Many others, with bandages wrapped around various limbs or their head stared out intently from within the gloomy interior of Soviet issue tents. As yet, his guards were not pointing their rifles at them, but their hackles were up so to speak.

"Rissien, what do they want?" asked Alexandrov, never taking his eyes from the assembled group of women. The elf made his way to the forefront and began speaking to them. One word seemed to take root and it repeated like a ripple throughout the crowd, in hushed, excited murmurs. General, general, general, over and over again.

One of them, a bunny woman with bright orange hair spoke animatedly to Rissien and Alexandrov watched the elf nod repeatedly, before speaking again. After a short time, a look of the utmost glee broke the bunny's face and what ever she said to the rest of her kind started a chorus of discussion. Rissien stealthily made his way back to Alexandrov's side while they were distracted.

"What did they want?"

"They wanted to see the general of the Mottled Men Sir. They also saw you carry an injured warrior bunny personally for treatment. That shocked them, but they did like it," assured the elf. "Then I told them that you personally ordered their liberation and continuing aide. That they will not have to pay for any of the food or medicine that they are given, or clothes."

"So why are they all looking at me like that?" asked Alexandrov, feeling a tad uncomfortable as over a hundred warrior bunnies gazed at him intently, intermittently arguing with each other. With a smattering of other races mixed in amongst them.

"They are deciding whether to pledge themselves to your service General. The warrior bunnies are a martial culture, pride and strength comes before anything else for them. Intensely independent to the point of xenophobia even. They lost their pride and strength when they were made slaves, made less than dirt in their eyes and that of their kin who are yet free. The strongest amongst them who can best fend for the tribe is elected as their leader. When they were defeated and enslaved, it made them lose faith in their own ability and that of their race. When you freed them, you provided for them, gave them their strength and pride back, and as shown when you helped that injured woman, you do care for them."

"So you're saying that they're deciding if they want me to be their queen?" asked Alexandrov incredulous.

"Well they call it taisech which means chieftain, though she is usually called a queen, but in essence, yes. General, I think that they've decided."

The crowd of assembled warrior bunnies had indeed fallen silent, and the orange haired one who had been speaking with Rissien from before started forward towards Alexandrov. She walked up to him and went down to her knees, grabbing his hand as she did so, and kissed it. A ceremonial act and even though he was ignorant of the custom, it was obviously done with great care and formality. She was followed by another, and another, who all pledged their allegiance personally to Alexandrov. Each in turn kneeling and kissing his hand.

How was he going to explain this to the Politburo?

AN: Well that's another chapter, sorry for the delay, but I went and wrote a couple of chapters for another one of my stories in the interim. Leave a review and tell me what you think of it and I'll be sure to get back to you.


	11. Chapter 11

| Luella woke with a sleepy yawn and even though sunlight was filtering in through the window to her room, she still felt groggy like she hadn't slept for quite long enough. Sitting up made her long blonde hair form a shroud around her, even as she yawned again, longer than before. Her mouth felt dry like it had been stuffed with cotton while she slept and she moved her tongue like her mouth was full of syrup. With a start, she realized that she didn't know where she was, and was dressed again in her pink pajamas. Well, _another_ set of pink pajamas.

The floor was carpeted and soft on her feet as she swung her legs off of a bed large enough for three people and walked around. Her footsteps were light and silent, an unintentional byproduct of her elvish dexterity. There was a double doorway on the wall towards the foot of the bed, and another door that looked like it led to a large washroom.

Luella was a little scared being alone in a place she didn't know and wasn't sure if she should call out for Feliks or the others or if she should stay quiet. Hesitantly, she went to the large double doors and pushed them open. She was greeted by the sight of Boris sleeping in a chair directly across the hall.

There were some paintings on the walls and a long carpet running down the center of the hallway with a few windows spaced here and there, but overall it was largely empty. Smiling mischievously, her discomfort forgotten, Luella crept up beside Boris and stood in the chair vacant next to his. Then, she grabbed some of her long hair and dangled it in front of his face like a palm frond. Letting the blonde locks brush against his face and nose.

The old veterans face contorted minutely at the irritation, his nose twitching and Luella had to stifle a giggle. His hand came up suddenly to rub his face and very nearly grabbed the lock of Luella's hair, only for her to pull it away again just in time. His hand went down again after a moment and muffled grunt and Luella repeated her previous action. Dangling the lock of her hair in front of his face.

She rubbed the lock of hair just on the tip of his nose and his cheek, the silky strands making Boris' face twitch at the irritation.

Boris' eyes opened after he let out a grunt and a sigh from the tickling hair and he looked up at Luella, who by now was just about ready to break out into giggles from her little prank. She let out a yelp of surprise when the big bear of a man drew her into a hug tight against his chest.

"Are you okay?" he asked, voice heavy with concern.

"Well, yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" asked Luella puzzled when the hug was finally loosened enough for her to breathe.

"But do you hurt anywhere? Do you feel dizzy or nauseous?"

"Well, my neck is a little sore and I'm thirsty, but that's it. Um. Boris. Where are we?"

"We're at the Russian Federation Embassy," answered the Veteran promptly.

"Oh, okay. Where's that?" asked the elfin girl curiously.

"She's awake now, how is she feeling?"

It was Feliks and Ianthe walking up towards them, carrying trays with soup and drinks on them. Now hurrying as quickly as they could without spilling anything to where the veteran and petite elf were.

"Soup for breakfast?" asked Luella, perplexed hopping down from the chair to the floor below.

"Well it's almost two in the afternoon."

"What?! That late? I haven't slept in that long in 30 years when I tried wine for the first time. I must have been really tired after we left the Diet and went...where did we go? I remember getting on the subway, but nothing after that. Um, Ianthe? It's okay," consoled Luella surprised as the silver haired mercenary grasped her tightly, looking as though she might cry.

"I am so sorry teacher. I should have stayed by your side and you would never have come to harm. I failed you little elf."

"Um, what's going on? Why is everyone so worried about me?"

"A group of people tried to abduct you when you went to use the washroom in the subway. They drugged you and that's why you slept so long. I...didn't see it coming until it had already started," said Feliks, seemingly unable to look at her and sounding distraught.

"Well, I'm okay now, so you guys don't have to be so hard on yourselves. I mean, I'm safe now and I don't really remember any of it anyways so it's okay. You don't have to feel bad on account of me. Ianthe, it's okay, you don't have to cry."

"I'm not crying," said the mercenary stiffly, sniffling shortly thereafter.

Luella stroked her hair and sang a few notes softly for the mercenary, her nightingale voice reverberating up and down the hallway until Ianthe's breathing returned to normal. Luella ran her hand over the cuts and scrapes on Ianthe's face and they disappeared like smudges of dirt, leaving untouched and flawless skin in their place.

"I do have a question though," began Luella. "How did I get into my pajamas if I was asleep?" She held up her arms as if to display the pink garment she know wore clinging to her frame.

"I put them on you," answered Ianthe in Common, rising and wiping at the corners of her eyes.

"But, that means you," began Luella, face flushing pink in embarrassment and covering herself as if nude.

"Don't be embarrassed little elf, no one else was present."

"But still," mumbled Luella, cheeks still flushed pink.

"I will never tell a soul about it teacher, you needn't worry. Now, we were given new clothes if you wish to change out of your nightwear we can get you into more appropriate attire."

"Once wasn't enough for you?" asked Luella incredulous, covering her already covered breasts with her forearms and turning to the side. "I'm not that kind of girl."

A startled look came across the mercenary's face and then in a rare display of mirth, much to Luella's shock, the silver haired warrior's face cracked into a wide smile and she laughed high and clear. Betraying her elvish heritage with the musical laugh that belted from past lips.

"Little teacher, I don't think you would _ever_ be that kind of woman," chuckled Ianthe wiping tears of mirth from the corners of her eyes.

"You look very pretty when you're happy Ianthe, I wish you were happy more often," said Luella without really thinking about what she was saying. With a start she realized what she'd said and her hand came up to her mouth like it would bring the words back.

"Oh. Well, maybe I'll have to work on that then," said Ianthe after a pause. Not looking angry or upset, just surprised.

Luella's stomach growled rather loudly then and she let out an embarrassed chuckle.

"Is the soup still warm?"

"Of course, here," said Feliks and Luella found a tray with a bowl of soup and sandwiches all but dropped on her lap. The bread was soft and there was strange sauces on it that tasted very good in addition to the vegetables and meat. Normally Luella would abstain from meat, but she wasn't completely adverse to it and she did like fish. Plus she was very hungry, surprisingly so even. She was half done a sandwich when she realized that everyone was still watching her.

"I'm fine, really," said Luella to the concerned stares, letting out a small burp and excusing herself. "You should all eat something too."

"Alright, but if you start feeling sick, just let us know," said Boris in a fatherly way.

"Okay, I will. But how did we get here, and where's Itami and the Japanese? And, why is there a bruise on you face Feliks?"

"Well," began Feliks.

 _The night before_

"This...this is a joke right?" asked Feliks, the closest he'd ever been to coming completely unglued since he'd joined the army.

"Well, no. I figured that with everything that was going on this would be the safest place to be," answered Itami in his usual complacent manner.

Komakado had been their only escort from the Japanese Public Security Agency. He had injured himself trying to pick up Rory's halberd from the ground that a man had tried to grab from the apostle. He'd underestimated just how heavy the weapon had been and put his back out doing it. Telling them to continue on to a predetermined rendezvous where they would be put under continued protection and have a roof put over their head as an ambulance had taken him away.

It had been impossible to explain why Luella wouldn't wake up from all the commotion and so Feliks had been forced to come clean about the attempted abduction, but abstained from mentioning the murders he and Ianthe had committed in the process of preventing her abduction.

So with the arson at the hotel, the attempted abduction, their bus being followed that they had ditched, and now bereft of any security escort, Itami had begun to speak of a safe house where no one would be able to find them or think to ever look.

The idea appealed to Feliks, himself having stayed in several well stocked safe houses in his time in the GRU. They would be in a nondescript house with plenty of food, entertainment, and best of all, privacy. So, believing that to be where they were going, he had agreed wholeheartedly to the idea. Reality however, had been much different.

"This is your ex wife's house," began Feliks venomously. "This is not a safe house. There is no heat in this building despite the fact that temperatures drops below freezing at night. The water is turned off so there's nothing to drink, there's no food besides that damned takeout you brought for her and going by these past due notices, the power looks like it will be cut any day, if not today. We have no weapons stash here to defend ourselves. No emergency cash supply to support us if we need it. No goddamned way to even call for help unless you use your cellphone to call the police, because I'm 90% sure that this place is foreclosed and isn't listed. There are fifteen of us here Itami. Fifteen. This is at best a bachelor apartment. There isn't even enough room for all of us to lay down on the floor without laying on top of each other. There is only one way _in_ and _out_ of here. How in the FUCK did you think this was a good idea?!"

"We needed somewhere safe to go so I went to the place where I knew where nobody would look for us. This is exactly why I picked this place and if somebody is spying on us then going where we were supposed to would have just led to another kidnapping attempt or something worse," retorted back Itami, his voice rising and jaw setting firmly.

"If your country couldn't handle security, why the fuck did you have us stay more than a day? You said you were an S didn't you? That you were supposed to be special forces?"

"Yeah, I got the training," said Itami, speaking curtly. "My specialty was avoiding detection and evasion, which is exactly what we're doing now."

"Then obviously it must have been shit training because you have no idea what a safe house is. There's no panic room here. No hidden way of ex-filtration. No medical staff or equipment besides an expired box of band aids," continued Feliks, growing more irate as he continued and throwing the box of said band aids across the room, face fixing into a snarl. "How the hell do band aids expire anyways? The only thing that we _are_ well stocked with is poverty and gay porn!" He accentuated his point by kicking a bookshelf full of man on man doujin that Itami's ex-wife both collected and authored. Rattling the bookshelf and making some of the more descriptive pieces fall open to the ground.

"Hey, don't kick my doujins, those are expensive," snapped Itami's ex-wife Risa.

"Shut up bitch, this doesn't involve you!"

"Don't you dare call my wife a bitch!" growled Itami, eyes flashing and fists tightening.

"Fuck you and your cunt of an ex-wife!" Perhaps it was his anger that clouded his perception, but Feliks didn't see the punch that Itami threw until it hit him square in the cheek.

Feliks almost collided with the Imperial Princes Pina as he was staggered by the blow, but he slammed his foot down and caught himself, feeling murderous himself.

He charged at Itami, taking him in a tackle that saw them land on, and break a small circular table strewn with bills and other papers. Feliks started raining blows down onto the Japanese Officer, Itami shielding himself with his forearms, but unable to stop all of the strikes.

He moved out of the way as Feliks threw another blow, catching his arm and managing to wrap his legs around the Soviet, throwing him off of him. Then, throw some of his own punches into the younger man when he couldn't block.

Feliks twisted in Itamis grip, every strike that landed on him only making him angrier and angrier. He managed to free himself of Itami's grasp and they struggled to their feet, Feliks holding him in a headlock, feeding knees into the Japanese officer's stomach. Actually managing to lift Itami off of the ground with some blows, and managing to make a hole in the wall with Itami's head in a shower of plaster, before throwing him to the ground.

When Feliks tried to get on top of him again, Itami managed to kick and trip him at the same time making him fall backwards to the ground heavily. Feliks was just rising, when Itami hit him over the back with a wooden chair, breaking it. Feliks half fell to his knees as pain exploded across his back and then again as a wooden club struck him across the side of the head, both making his vision flash and dim at the same time.

He felt his rage melt away into cold fury, an emotionless hate and he forced himself to stand despite the pain, stopping another swing from Itami and his club by catching the arm that held it in a lock. Past the hate, beyond the pain, Feliks felt something else. He felt a way that he hadn't felt in a long time. The _other_ him that he had thought was dead taking over. Feliks then delivered a short but vicious blow to Itami's throat making the older man gasp, before throwing him to the ground in movements almost too quick to follow. Preparing to give a finishing blow, Feliks found himself yanked back roughly by the collar of his shirt by a strong, yet small hand.

"Now now, I like giving praise to Emroy as much as anyone else, but that just simply won't do," chastised Rory like she was speaking to a child. Though for her, she technically _was_ speaking to a child. An infant perhaps in her mind, maybe only a mortal gnat barely worthy of her attention.

She carried him back to the door where everyone else had watched the fight proceed, perhaps too shocked to intervene, or even restrained from doing so by Rory herself. She dropped Feliks like a mother cat does a kitten before going back and helping Itami to his feet. Coughing as he fought to get his breath back.

"We're leaving," said Feliks sharply, rising and fixing his coat. Wiping blood away from his nose.

"Feliks," began Boris.

"Sergeant Kotov, we're leaving here now."

"Yes Comrade Lieutenant," answered the older man promptly, ingrained military discipline taking hold.

Feliks took him and his party away from Itami's house, going to a payphone and making a call to the Embassy of the Russian Federation. If they were serious about wanting to help out, they were about to find out.

Hardly ten minutes after he'd made the call, a limo pulled up and a well dressed man opened the door and ushered them inside. After that, they went directly to the embassy.

"But why did you two fight?" asked Luella. "I thought you two were getting along well."

"I let my temper get the best of me. I shouldn't have said the things that I did."

"You did do something kinda dumb," agreed the elfin girl. "But you just have to say you're sorry. I mean, you don't want to stay mad at each other, it's not healthy."

"No, it's not," agreed Feliks. "If you're feeling better now, I have to go talk to Comrade Myshkin."

"Okay, see you later!" offered Luella with a wave, watching both Feliks and Ianthe leave.

"Boris, you have some mustard on your nose."

"Really? Where?"

"Right there," offered Luella, pushing the edge of her sandwich against the end of his nose and leaving a smudge of mustard, giggling like a misbehaving child as she did so.

"Luella," said Boris reproachfully.

"I kno-mpfh! I can't believe you just did that!" exclaimed the elfin girl, wiping lettuce and mustard from her incredulous face, while Boris let out a great belly-shaking guffaw and Luella joined him with her ringing, melodic laugh.

Xxx

Pina wasn't entirely sure what had transpired the night before or why, being unable to speak the language of the Japanese, but she had understood something all the same. A division existed between the Japanese and the Soviets, a crack between their two nations. A weakness that a wedge could be driven in between to further widen and exploit.

She could not negotiate with the Soviets, she had spoken to their highest General and he had rebuffed her totally and utterly. It had been crushing, especially seeing their tens of thousands of men, and _thousands_ of iron elephants waiting to be let loose. It had planted a seed of fear in her, but also ignited a fervent desperation for her to save the Empire.

Force of arms would not save the Empire, she had seen that much, it had been proven. But force of will? Force of perception? Those things she could easily accomplish. The Japanese she had learned quite quickly from even a cursory skimming of their recent political and historical archives that they called _news articles_ had revealed that they were not a warlike nation. In fact, even now some of their citizens were openly opposing military operations in Falmart. Such a thing was simply inconceivable in the Empire. During times of war, the public always gave support, secure in the knowledge that the Empire was acting in the best interests of the nation and the Empire itself.

They, and the Americans were _humanitarian_ nations, as she had learned the term to be, though the term humanitarian was still something new to her. Giving monetary aid and relief to less wealthy and stable nations. Yet they were hungry for resources, many articles pointing to America specifically going to war for things like oil and various political reasons. Some, merely because their people had _wanted_ nay, _demanded_ that they go to war.

It was just like the Empire, although the Emperor may sit upon the gilded throne, the mob held the real power. If the people _demanded_ something as one, even the Emperor had to bow to them. And with their leaders bound by the wills of their people, having only temporary reigns, much like senators, they were as much slaves to their people as a demi-human to the mines. The only question was, how could she bring both the Japanese _and_ the Americans to the aid of the Empire?

She had read, studied, and had translated so many articles and texts until they had blurred together and her head had hurt. She had been tempted to study more of the art that Risa, Itami's former wife made for a living, but she had resisted doing it for her own gratification (though she had set Bozes about the task) and instead devoted all of her energies to more pertinent studies. Her own carnal desires in no way of the same importance that saving the Empire was.

Now they were staying at a natural hot springs called Hakone. After the fire at their previous inn, the Japanese and Americans had increased security, with men in dark suits similar to those worn by the members of the Diet roaming the grounds around the springs. There was some discontent being spoken, concern about the Soviets seeking shelter with the Russian Federation. Though she wasn't sure what that nation was, or if it was indeed a nation, the body language used when they had discussed it had transcended any language. Pina had been awarded an opportunity, one that she had to seize upon before heads cooled and the previous confrontations were forgiven. She _had_ to find a way to make the Japanese and their allies sympathetic to the Empire in any way she could.

Sir Itami, or Youji Itami as was his real name, was a commoner. Lacking noble lineage or gentle birth, but he was a hero amongst the Japanese people, one who still held some sway even now in their mood. His actions saving a few hundred peasants and bringing the gaggle women from Falmart had done nothing but increase his popularity. He had a usefulness attached to him, one that could make him a valuable tool. Or lead her to ones who could be valuable.

Pina was dressed only with a towel protecting her decency, in the mens side of the hot springs. She was carrying a cup of frost leaf tea, a somewhat common tea in the Empire that was excellent for soothing throats, especially when mixed with honey as she had done for it. Itami's voice had been hoarse for most of the day, ever since the Soviet officer had hit him in the throat the night previously.

Right now he was lounging in the steaming water, back to her as she padded softly towards him in her bare feet, carrying the cup of tea. He didn't notice her, even when she was but five paces from him. She almost stopped then, turned around and walked back, her own propriety rejecting the idea of being nude before a man, a commoner no less. But she quelled her trembling stomach and taking a deep breath removed her towel, baring her body for any that chose to see and entered the warm spring next to Itami, careful to avoid spilling the tea as she did so.

He didn't react for a moment, perhaps believing that it was one of his comrades that had joined him. He said something in Japanese with is eyes closed, his voice still sounding gravelly as he did so. When Pina didn't respond he opened his eyes and looked at her. His response was rather immediate.

"P-princess?! What are you doing here!? This is the mens area," sputtered Itami, splashing in his attempt to distance himself from Pina.

A thrill of horror coursed through Pina, believing that she had offended him with some unknown cultural nuance and that he would leave, but the blush bright upon his cheeks spoke instead of prudishness and conservatism, not repulsion or revulsion at Pina's form or proximity.

Pina kept the worry from her face and instead smiled at Itami, allowing some of her embarrassment to seep through to make it seem all the more geniune.

"I know that I am not supposed to be here, but I was concerned about you and so I brought you some tea."

"Hm?"

"Your throat. You have been speaking very hoarsely since that Soviet officer assaulted you last night and I wished to aid you. If you wish me to leave, I will, I did not intend to cause harm. Though, I had wished to speak with you. Perhaps, another time when more convenient. I will leave the tea if you wish it. If not, I may make more another time," said Pina, gambling and doing her best to look as crestfallen as possible. Using her youth and sex to pull at Itami's heartstrings. Her own fear of failing making her dejection all the more real and she allowed it to show on her face.

"Wait, don't go. It's fine, I overreacted," said Itami, his tone conciliatory, even apologetic. Pina fought to stop a grin from spreading to her face and bit her cheek to stop it.

"If it's not too much trouble," said Pina meekly.

"No. No, it's fine. I've just been thinking about everything that's been going on lately and feeling sorry for myself. Here, I'd love some of that tea."

"I'm glad, I made it myself. It may not be the best, but I believed that it was something I had to make personally to thank you."

"Thank me?" asked Itami puzzled. Pina had to suppress a surge of satisfaction as his eyes flicked down to her exposed breasts as she handed him the teacup with both hands. A man who was thinking with his lower head would not be thinking clearly with his upper. But she had to be careful, she couldn't come across as an easy whore. She must maintain _some_ form of respectability and naivety for her plan to work.

"This is really good," complimented Itami taking a sip. "What is it?"

"Ice leaf tea with honey. I always carry some when I travel with the Rose Order. My throat often gets sore calling orders and I drink it to soothe it. I find it very helpful and I thought that you would as well."

"Yeah, it's definitely helping," said Itami, sounding surprised, his voice already sounding less scratchy. As if the tea were sealing up cracks and smoothing over the abused flesh. "Thank you. I've never had tea from a princess before."

"Let us not stand on ceremony, my name is Pina and I would like you to call me that. If, I could call you Youji."

"Uh sure. What did you want to talk about Pina?"

Pina smiled sweetly, but on the inside she was spinning. How could she approach the subject of Japan and the Americans helping the Empire without making it painfully obvious that she had an agenda?

"Well. I was wondering, does your face hurt?"

"My face? A little yeah. It was a stupid thing to fight about," muttered Itami, rubbing at the bruise on his face. "I lost my temper when he insulted my wife. Well, ex-wife."

"It was not a foolish thing to fight him, not for the honor of your lover, or former lover," said Pina genuinely believing what she said. "What woman would cherish a man who wouldn't defend her honor when so affronted by a stranger within her own home? You did the right thing, something than any woman would appreciate you doing for her."

"Maybe, but it was still dumb to do. I'll probably be in trouble from my superiors for making the Soviets go to the Russian embassy instead of staying with us," lamented Itami, rubbing his forehead like he had an intense headache. "Plus I assaulted him first, which is against the law in Japan."

"Maybe a friendship with such a nation whose officers and diplomats act so crudely is not a friendship worth having?" ventured Pina, gauging Itami's reaction which seemed relatively neutral.

"No, we still have to play nice," said Itami with a weary sigh, voice sounding much more normal. "The tea was very good thank you. It helped a lot."

"My pleasure, here, allow me" said Pina, taking the cup back, but being sure to brush her breasts against Itami's shoulder as she did so, before drawing back in mock shock, and some real embarrassment, face flushing and half in disbelief that she had actually done it.

"I-I'm sorry about that Youji," stammered Pina, face flushing crimson, needing no acting to make it do so.

"Don't worry about it," assured Itami, but there was a huskiness to his voice that hadn't been there before, and it wasn't from a sore throat. Although it was dark and the water somewhat murky, Pina could tell that he was stiffening.

"I must apologize for my clumsiness, I'm afraid my head has been clouded of late."

"Oh? Why?" asked Itami, still under the spell of his own semi-arousal. Despite her own embarrassment, Pina had to bite her cheek again savagely to suppress a smile.

"I don't wish to trouble you with it Youji."

"I don't mind, not like I'm busy doing anything else anyways. What's bothering you?" asked Itami in his usual laid back, but concerned tone.

"When we went to Mt. Rubicon, their general, Alexandrov, said that he would never accept peace with the Empire. Only total subjugation and the eradication of the nobles, senate, and our nation as an entity. The Empire is not adverse to change, but we are like stone. We change gradually, over time like a rock washed over by the rivers water. To change it too fast would see the Empire shatter and its people scattered, our traditions lost. I have fear not just for the Empire, but the noble families as well. I have heard whispers of that when the Soviets go into a lords lands, they take him and his family away and they are never seen again. There are many noble families within the Empire and all of them have children. I must admit that I am also fearful for myself and any children I may one day sire. I am of the royal bloodline and I have a strong claim to the throne. I would be a threat to them, even with no designs upon pressing any claim. Any children I have would be a threat to them. Hunted even. I must admit it makes me...afraid," confided Pina truthfully, but also playing it up by allowing her crimson hair to obscure her features as she seemed to shrink in on herself in the hot springs. She waited for Itami's reaction, wondering if her exaggerated ruse would be discovered and how far to play it.

She had to give off the perception of a distraught and vulnerable woman, who was still strong and a useful ally to have. One that would valuable to both the Japanese and the Americans. She pinched herself hard on the arm, skin turning white under the pressure, feeling as if it would tear until she made herself tear up and let them fall to the hot springs below.

"Hey, it's alright," Pina heard Itami say and he put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Pina trapped him in a hug that took the older man by surprise, burying her head into his neck. Pina's heart was hammering in her chest at the scandalous act, but nevertheless she held him close to her in a tight embrace. Feeling his hardness poking into her thigh but she held onto him regardless. She could feel his pulse increase with her head so tucked into the side of his neck.

"Youji, I did not expect to find a friend in you after what my nation has done to your people. But, even still, I am glad to have your support. It means a so much to me knowing that I have a friend close to me when everything else around me is unknown."

"Uh," stammered Itami, hand up and away from the princess, unsure of what to do.

"I had feared that I would be punished for the actions of my nation when I came to meet with your diplomats, but instead I found them civil and willing to negotiate an end to needless bloodshed. It gives me hope."

"Well, hope is always good to have," said Itami rather lamely.

"It really is," said Pina, a smile cracking her lips, hidden from Itami with her head buried into his neck.

xxx

"Good. Now, what was the third card that you drew from the second deck?"

"The three of clubs."

"Very good," praised Dr. Pajari, giving the green 'haired', feathered, and eyed siren girl a peach. The girl took it and devoured the peach with quick, almost jerky bird-like movements. Wiping her hands and face when she was done with a handkerchief and folding it like she had been taught specifically how to do it.

They were seated at a small wooden table, large enough for four people with cards spread out over its surface. The walls were a plain white stone, that wasn't really stone, and the floor covered in linoleum. They were in a private building, nearer the top of Mt. Rubicon, set aside for research and study of local flora and fauna. A large portion of it under the direct control of Dr. Pajari. Light filtered in through a single large window set at ground level into the room, negating the need for artificial light.

"Now. The 30th card from the 1st deck, the 19th card from the 8th deck, and the 50th card from the 12th deck," said Dr. Pajari, writing down notes on a clipboard while he waited.

"Um. I don't remember all of those sorry," said the siren apologetically, feeling a thrill of anxiety as the doctor stopped writing and looked at her as if she was something unpleasant that he had stepped in. Pulling back a plum off the table and into his pocket.

"Ace of spades, king of hearts, four of spades, and seven of diamonds," rattled off the siren girl quickly, looking down into her lap as she fumbled with her hands.

"That is...correct," said Pajari after a moment and double checking his notes, a tone of astonishment in his voice. "Why did you lie if you knew what they were?" It was a kind question, or at least it sounded kind. Maybe curious was a better word for it.

"I don't know," murmured the siren girl, playing with her hands in her lap.

"Yes you do. Please, answer truthfully. No one is judging you in here."

"I...I've always been different. Odd. It's got me in trouble before with my village. They didn't like me for it," said the Siren in short sentences quietly, avoiding looking the Dr. in the eye.

"What do you mean different? Please elaborate. Explain in greater detail," added Pajari, after realizing that the siren before him might not understand what the word elaborate meant.

"Well, I've always remembered things better than anyone else. Even things that no one else does, I just _remember_ it. I've always been like that. I...I know that exactly 452 days ago I ate an apple in six bites and chewed each bite fifteen times. I remember the day, the fourth day after the summer solstice. The weather was sunny, with fifteen clouds to the North and nine to the South. Even the smells, pollen, horse sweat, and molting feathers mixed with crushed pine. I remember everything. It's like when I see something or do something, my mind paints a picture of it that I can look at it any time I want. It's always just been something I've been able to do. My village thought I was odd. I...I didn't always understand what everyone meant when they said things. I would do things, stupid things that would make people mad. Mad at me. I don't understand when people say one thing and mean another very well. I would break things, because I wanted to know how they worked. I would take them apart. Sometimes I could put them back together, other times I broke them when I took them apart. I've always been…a freak," finished the Siren, her voice only a murmur.

She cringed when Pajari put his hand under her chin and forced her to look up at him, averting her eyes although her head stayed where it was. It wasn't a mean or cruel motion though, if anything it was almost gentle, like he was treating her like she was made of glass. Fragile, and precious.

"You are not a freak. You have a gift. A very rare and a very special gift. You have what is called an eidetic memory. It is the ability to recall an image or interaction so vividly it's as if you're seeing it again in person."

Dr. Pajari said it slowly and purposefully, in his educated and soothing voice. His brown eyes kind and slowly, she began staring into them, finding comfort in them where normally she only found anxiety.

"Yes! When I think about something, it's like I'm standing there watching myself do it again. Nobody ever understood that before, they always thought I was lying," said the green haired girl excitedly, practically cooing. Overjoyed to finally have someone who understood what she lived through daily.

"I don't normally say this Circe, but with this gift, it makes you special. You are special. You never had to study something to learn something, or read it more than once did you? You'd read it once and remember it exactly. Page number, sentence number, even the word. Correct?"

"Yes!" said Circe, shaking her head up and down excitedly. "My tutors always thought I was cheating or trying to make them look foolish. They caned me when I said I could still see the pages in the tome, saying that cheating was wrong. They never believed me."

"That was because they weren't special like you Circe. They didn't understand what you can do. You are gifted," said Pajari emphatically, putting the plum back on the table for Circe, adding several more kinds of fruit for her as well. Kinds that Circe had scarce ever been able to afford before.

She felt...nice when the doctor complimented her. Warm and fuzzy on the inside. He was obviously a respected man, maybe a noble and he was showering her with praise that she had never experienced before in her life. She let out a shy smile.

"Do you really think I'm special?" asked Circe timidly.

"I don't think so Circe, I know it as a fact. Most people will say that everyone has something that makes them slightly different, unique in their own way. Childish imagining," said Pajari with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Their differences are minimal at best. More products of environment and upbringing that actual quantifiable difference. What you have _is_ special. It is rare, it makes you valuable. I could have a million other people and none of them would be able to do what you can do."

"Thank you Doctor," was all Circe could think to say, blushing from the praise.

"Please. Call me Konstantin," said Pajari.

"But your title," protested the green haired siren.

"A PhD acquired through study at a university. Something that took me seven years of note taking and testing to acquire. Something that you could learn in the time it took you to turn the pages in the textbook. I had you do high school math earlier and in the time it took you to look at the equations and read the rules, see a handful of examples, you were able to complete the assignment with one hundred percent accuracy. I am not your superior in intelligence. Given similar opportunities as me, I would be working under your tutelage. I am humble enough to know when I meet someone smarter than I am Circe. All I have over you is education, something that you can acquire at any point. You are naturally intelligent. A genius even. We are equals here, you and I. Perhaps myself even subservient to you. Would you like juice? We have ice to keep it cool."

"Yes, very much please," said Circe, still aglow with warmth from the praise, face flushing in embarrassment.

"Very good. Apple, orange, or peach?"

"I've never had any of those," admitted Circe, feeling inferior for the fact.

"That is no issue. You may have all three and see which of them you like best."

"That...that's not too much trouble?" asked Circe, tentatively.

"No, not at all," smiled Pajari. "Felicia. Bring three drinks for my guest. I hope you heard all the kinds to get."

It was said as not a question, but rather a statement. Like he was tired of speaking to someone who was continually befuddled by the simplest tasks.

"Yes Doctor, I will bring the peach, apple, and orange juice in three separate glasses with ice," answered the red haired warrior bunny in a monotone. Golden eyes downcast, ears following suit flopped forwards, and dressed in a simple skirt and blouse, complete with high heeled black dress shoes.

"Then what are you waiting for? See to it."

"Yes Doctor," said Felicia, doing a curtsey before leaving to perform the task.

"She doesn't call you Konstantin?" asked Circe perplexed.

"She is not my equal," said Pajari simply.

xxx

"You know in my younger years I wore a uniform just like that," said Ambassador Myshkin, smiling fondly like a caring grandfather staring at a beloved grandchild. A half dreamy look crossing his features as if remembering happier times from a half remembered past. "I may not look it you know, but in my younger years I was a member of the Morskaya Pekhota, 55th Division. We were based out of Vladivostok and I tell you we were _crack_ troops. Though, that is well over 40 years ago now by my count. Almost fifty in fact, a lifetime by most reckonings. Still, I was young and _strong_ then. _We_ were strong then. _Powerful_ ," continued the ambassador, this time sounding almost mournful at the admission. Like a carpenter who built a grand mansion in his youth, the pride of all of his works, only to find it abandoned and decrepit years later. A shell of what had once been. "Tell me again Lieutenant, how old are you?"

"I am 24 years old Comrade Ambassador," replied Feliks promptly and politely.

"A good age. Use your youth well, it slips by before you realize it and your strength will go with it."

"But not always the mind."

"No, not always the mind," allowed Myshkin, a ghost of a smile creasing his face. "I would like to ask a favor of you if I could Lieutenant. Nothing to compromise your integrity or make promises that you can't keep. Merely...a courtesy."

"What kind of courtesy?" asked Feliks, voice neutral, but studying the wizened face of the Russian Ambassador, seeking a glimpse of intention within the weathered features, but finding none. Feliks had learned how to read people, taught really in the GRU. Yet this man was a politician, a master of obfuscation and misdirection. One as comfortable with words as Feliks was with a Kalashnikov.

"I would like to send a letter back with you. Nothing too big or exquisite. Just a few pieces of paper and some strokes of ink. I have addressed it to Colonel General Alexandrov with hopes that he will pass on what I have to say to the Politburo. Now, the letter itself is rather confidential so I believe that it goes without saying that it would be for his eyes only."

And use my diplomatic immunity to ensure that no one even knows that it was given to me. And get it through the gate, thought Feliks, but didn't say.

"It is an inconvenience I know, but only a small one. One which I would not be hesitant to make in the desire to make new friends. If so able I would like to deliver it in person, but I fear that at this time that is not possible. The Japanese are hardly letting the Americans in as it stands now. So the chances of letting an old Russian in to poke around? I have my doubts."

The tone was cordial, but Feliks wasn't so dense as to pick up on the underlying tone and unspoken words. Myshkin had covered up a triple homicide. _Cleaned_ up after it to make it seem as though it had never happened. He had done a favor, a rather large favor for Feliks and now wanted one in return. Feliks could refuse, he could say no. But then a body might turn up in an alleyway. Perhaps the harbor. Somewhere inconvenient that would make people ask questions. He didn't know if the ambassador would do that, if he even planned on doing that, but perhaps that was part of his power. To hold the cards and not show them to who he was playing against. Make you guess what he was going to do.

"It wouldn't be any issue at all to bring back a letter for my General," said Feliks.

"Very good then," responded Myshkin, the old man smiling. "All the preparations have been made for your transport and the Japanese are expecting you at the Gate this afternoon. There is one more thing of note though I believe that you should hear."

"What is it?"

"The inconveniences you faced were the result of Korean interest, north to be precise."

"I see. May I ask why?"

"When a man is sick and he finds a cure, he will want to acquire it by any means."

"I suppose he would. Thank you for the information Comrade Myshkin, I hope that we meet again under better circumstances in the future. Once again, thank you for your hospitality."

"Think nothing of it, and I could have not imagined more favorable circumstances," said Myshkin smiling.

Xxx

Ianthe wasn't one to brood, but when she did she would nibble on her lip as she lost herself in her own thoughts and what had caused her foul mood. Though foul might be the wrong word for it this time, it was more like a startling revelation.

No one had ever called Ianthe weak, not since her 14th season and she had always been proud of her strength, of her hard won strength and skill. Gained through years of dedicated sweat, hardship, and blood. Yet when her skills had been put to the test, she had been made completely helpless when the man had pointed a gun at her.

Gun. Even the word felt heavy to have pass through her thoughts or be spoken aloud, like it weighed down the end of her tongue as she dared to speak it. Half a season ago the ultimate power on the battlefield had been the dragon, or its lesser cousin the wyvern. A handful able to change the course of an entire battle. Unstoppable, powerful, majestic. The best weapon to have on hand for defense, the sword. An elegant weapon requiring years to master its use. She had lived her life around the blade, around becoming a draconian knight. Of becoming a Messalonian blademaster. A lifetime of blood and sweat, of utter dedication had been needed to forge herself into what she was now. Yet now _guns_ were threatening to undue all of that.

They were too fast too dodge, too fast to deflect. A shield couldn't stop them and any fool could pick one up and use it to kill a warrior far their superior. A gun was no less powerful if a peasant used it than a knight unlike a blade. Just point and pull, like a crossbow, but infinitely more powerful. How a man with less skill than she possessed in her little finger had threatened to undue everything she was. How she had _froze_ when he had even just _pointed_ the gun at her.

Now her mood was turning foul, remembering the fear that she had felt with the gun pointed at her. How could she protect anyone as a sworn sword if she couldn't even protect herself? Her weakness shamed her. She didn't realize how hard she was clenching her fists until she felt a hand fall lightly on her shoulder.

"Good All?" asked Volkov in broken Common.

"Yes, I'm fine my lord," answered Ianthe as she unclenched her hands, feeling the small flaps of skin that her nails had torn up in her white knuckled grip. Not quite drawing blood, but still breaking the skin.

Leaving Japan was a much less stately affair then when they had arrived. It had been arranged in conjunction with the Russian embassy and the Japanese that Feliks and his party would be dropped off by an embassy vehicle just outside the GATE perimeter and then they would be led through by Japanese personnel. Most likely SDF members.

Luella, despite everything that had happened to her was humming rather cheerily in the back of the car as she looked out of the window. The Embassy staff, Ambassador Myshkin in particular had been most generous and provided the elfin girl with a full set of good, light winter clothing. The embassy staff had been exceedingly welcoming to her, especially when she had been able to converse with them in their own language. Her childlike enthusiasm and endless questions had amused and endeared them to no end. but what could she do?

Ianthe was finding that she was increasingly helpless as a lifeguard, she hadn't mastered their tongue yet, and if they ran into any Messalonian mercenaries she would put her lord in danger. The more she thought about it, the more Ianthe's self-loathing increased. What could she do to prove her worth?

xxx

The mood was festive at Camp Zhukov, it was New Years Eve and just a few days after Feliks and his companions had gotten back from the _other_ Japan. There were fireworks planned for later in the evening, but Feliks was in his room and was busy planning their next recon mission. Plotting their route and pouring over all relevant intel that they could possibly need. So engrossed was he, that Feliks was actually taken by surprise when there was a knock on his door.

"Come in," called out Feliks.

The door opened and soon it was filled by Boris' large frame.

"Figured I would find you here."

"What can I do for you Senior Sergeant?"

"Well not too much, I just came to let you know that the fireworks are going to start soon. It's almost New Years and I thought that you'd like to come and join everyone."

"Hm, so it is," said Feliks, checking his watch. "That's alright though Boris, but I've got work to do. We're going to be going on patrol again soon and I want to make sure that everything is ready."

Boris got a look on his face, the kind that a father gets when he wishes to impart some wisdom on his son, but knowing that he's old and reckless enough to either not listen or do the exact opposite of what he tells him.

"You know Comrade Lieutenant, dedication is always good, but you still have to leave time for you and the people around you. You can finish doing that later, but if you wait much longer you'll miss out on this entirely. Plus I think I saw Ianthe wandering around camp with a vodka bottle, so you might want to contain that."

"Boris, we're going to miss the fireworks," came the childish whine from beyond the door, and the unmistakable voice of their resident wood elf.

"Anyways Feliks, just thought I'd let you know."

Boris closed the door behind him and left Feliks alone in his room with his maps. There was a muffled _crump_ and the sky lit up as the first of the fireworks went off. Maybe Boris was right, maybe he could just enjoy himself for a night? Plus there was a potentially drunk mercenary with a volatile temper wandering the camp..

Xxx

Captain Nikolai Vasiliev was one of the few members of the 1st Gate Army that was not overjoyed at his deployment. He was an air force pilot, a fighter pilot to be exact and an exceedingly good one. He was also blooded, 23 times to be exact. An ace four times over and nearing his fifth remuneration of the honorific. He wanted to be over the muggy Vietnamese skies with green canopies of sweltering jungle below him. Fighting against an enemy that could fight back.

As an _adviser_ to the North Vietnamese, he had taken down swathes of American and South Vietnamese planes. His MiG 21 unadorned save for a flag marking the country of origin for each kill he made and a single painted rearing rider with sword drawn on the nose of his aircraft. He had made a name for himself, for Soviet pilots and had challenged numerous American pilots to dogfights in South East Asia. Challenges that only he had walked away from. They always underestimated the dog fighting ability of the MiG 21. Always.

He had grown accustomed to the constant stress and pulse pounding exhilaration of aerial combat. It was where he belonged and had already submitted several requests to be sent back, but for the time being he was providing CAP missions against an enemy that would be hard pressed to keep PO2s in check, much less MiGs.

Today was different though, if only a little. Radar readings were inconsistent here sometimes, fuzzy was a better way to describe them. Some days you could pick out a bird seven hundred miles away, other times the stations had trouble telling one MiG from 90 MiGs. There were lots of false readings, unnecessary alarms, and far too many scrambles for a haywire radar dish. This time though, a part of Nikolai could feel that it was real.

They had picked up something BIG on radar. To the North East into the territory of the Kingdom of Elbe. An ally of the Empire and as such fair game, yet the radar contact had been worrisome. It had set the whole early warning array off on red alert and sent pilots scrambling to the tarmac, expecting the mother of all wyvern swarms. The contact had been fading in and out, like it was dropping out of range, or like it was going too low to be picked up, but the thing was cruising at 10 000 feet. There had been discussion if it was another faulty reading or if _something_ really was cruising around in their backyard. A faulty radar reading was no big deal, but ignoring a possible threat was. So a decision had been made and Nikolai and his flight had been scrambled on an intercept course.

It was a long mission and they were being guided by ground stations to their target. Large centreline fuel tanks protruding from them like swollen ticks extending their total air time by another hour and giving them the range necessary to engage their target and still get home. The four MiG 21s like sleek daggers, cutting through the pristine blue skies of an untouched world.

"Long Flight, you are five zero miles to target. Alter heading to zero four zero and proceed to last known target location."

"Spectacle, this is Long Lead, altering heading to zero four zero and proceeding to target location," answered back Nikolai, banking his MiG around and the rest of his flight doing the same. Forming up in a loose finger four formation.

"Smoke plume ahead. Forest fire?" asked one of the younger members of the flight, as they turned in line with a billowing cloud of black smoke still some miles distant. Orange flames seen faintly lapping up flora through the breaks in the cloud cover.

"Possible," allowed Nikolai, scanning the far horizon. Eyes searching for even the most minute of details. The thick black pall of smoke going up into the air making it hard to see anything other than smoke. Then all at once he saw it. So big, so massive, it was mind boggling that he hadn't seen it sooner. His brain perhaps refusing to acknowledge that something like that could even exist.

It was a mass of leathery wings, red scales, and mythological fury. There was a dragon, one the size of a damned mountain burning down a forest. Why? For all Nikolai knew just for the hell of it, but one thing that he did know, was that this was what had set off their radar warning like a New Years fireworks display.

"High pass, do not engage," called out Nikolai and he received a gaggle of affirmatives from the rest of his flight, but with tones of disappointment. Everyone wanted to fire what they had and more into this thing of legend. See if myth could stand up to modern firepower.

The MiGs passed over the creature, ten thousand feet above it and sounding like dull thunder as their machines cut through the clear skies like a quartet of thrown blades, leaving white contrails in their wake. Nikolai had his plane canted to the side, looking down below to see what the dragon was doing. So far as he could tell it was just burning down a forest because why not?

 _There's people down in that forest, that's why it's burning it down. You know it, so don't play dumb. They're probably all burning to death right now too while you're just flying up here all safe and secure in your fancy MiG. But you might be right, it might be doing it for shits and giggles. I'm sure that the people on fire down there find it hilarious._

It was Nikolai's own voice, or at least a critical and cynical voice that resided inside of his that spoke to him and he knew it was right. That dragon was probably massacring an entire village of something and somebodies. More effectively than American napalm ever could and with nothing that could stand against it.

"Spectacle, this is Long Lead. Target Acquired over the Schwartz Forest at coordinates provided. Target is a giant dragon, possibly 80 meters tall, wingspan approximately 160 meters, and it is breathing fire. Target is also missing an appendage."

"Uh, Long Lead this is Spectacle, did you say breathing fire?"

"Affirmative Spectacle, target is capable of breathing fire. Permission to engage?"

"Affirmative Long Lead, but orders are to keep clear of possible retaliation. Boom and zoom only."

"Roger Spectacle, engaging target. Break-break, Long Flight assume attack formation, but stay out of dogfight range. Follow me in, over."

With that Nikolai aggressively rolled his MiG over and it screamed into a dive, maneuvering into position for an attack run. Jettisoning the spare fuel tank as he did so, letting it fall away lazily from his plane. A familiar rush of welcome G's forcing him back into his seat, his heart starting to beat just a little faster at the thrill of high speed flight. The three other MiG fighters rolling over and staying on his tail just like he had told them, but leaving enough of a delay between them so that they could all fire. None of them had seen combat, but they had drilled endlessly and as such knew what to do and how to do it. A solid buzzing filled Nikolai's ears as he targeted the beast with a missile. Its hot maw a perfect target for the IR missiles they carried. By breathing fire, it might as well be rolling out a welcome mat. Nikolai hit the firing stud and watched the missile streak away like fiery vengeance.

Xxx

Hell. That was the only way to describe what was happening around them. The heat cooked and treated your skin like leather, threatening to crack it. Your eyes watered and ran, soot stinging them and making any attempts to flee blind fumbling through a forest increasingly enclosed. The smoke, choking and stealing the breath from your lungs. The only voices you heard were the unearthly howls of those being burned alive.

Maeldes stumbled and fell to her knees, a hacking cough stealing the breath from her lungs as she held her cloak up to her face to try and keep the smoke away. Her head hurt and she could hardly see anything through the thick and twisting pillars of smoke around her. Maeldes coughed until she thought she would die and then took in a great breath when it felt as if her lungs would burst.

The ground shook under her feet and like a child she wished to crawl under her parent's bed and hide away. To bury her head under the blankets like she had when the elders had told them scary stories, meant to sway them from committing wrongs or what would happen to misbehaving children. Looking up, eyes wide with fright, a whimper escaping from her throat, Maeldes saw the dragon above her.

It's eyes showed maleficent intelligence, old beyond years and cruel beyond measure. It was a beast that wouldn't understand mercy, couldn't understand fear. It seemed to know only hunger and feel a need for destruction.

It opened its maw wide, ivory white teeth the length of pikes and a tongue like some terrible sea creature filled its mouth. Its breath smelled of soot and ash. And death. So much death. It went for her like an avalanche of red scale and teeth. Maeldes didn't even scream, she was too terrified.

An explosion of fire and smoke hid the beast from view and the shock wave hurt her ears and her hands shot up to cover them. It did little to blot out the dragon's roar of rage and pain though.

It threw back its head and let out a roar of outrage that something had _dared_ to attack it. To make it feel _pain._ It was in the middle of this roar yet another explosion hid its head from view. A metal cylinder with fins rushed passed it and struck a burning tree, erupting in an explosion as the magic contained within burst free.

The dragon shook its head angrily as another metal cylinder struck it on its flank and exploded. More and more struck the beast, or else near it in the burning forest. Enough that with a final enraged shriek, the beast took flight, the dark elves forgotten as it chased after the ones that had dared to attack it. Metal blade heads that cut through the sky, with red stars on their wings.


	12. Chapter 12

_Stalingrad October 19th 1942_

"We have to pull back! We can't hold them!"

"They're fucking killing us!"

"What about the commissars?"

"They're all dead already and we will be too if we stay!"

"Medic! I need a medic!"

"Run! Just run!"

"MOTHER!"

If Major Alexandrov could have envisioned the hell that his mother had described that awaited unrepentant and heinous sinners, it would have fallen short of what he was seeing now.

Stalingrad. A city so named after the leader of the Communist party, and by extension the Soviet Union. A city held up as an example of the progress made under communism. A modern, industrial city on the Volga River that had been home to some 2 million souls before the war. Now it was a burning, crumbling ruin.

The sky was stained red like it was bleeding from the gashes of smoke that reached high into the heavens like greedy, crooked fingers from hungry fires. The smell of smoke, gunpowder, iron, dust, and blood permeated the city. Seasoned by the sickly sweet smell of rotting corpses and death.

The droning of aircraft overhead was constant and it was terrifying. None of those planes were Soviet, all of them bore the crooked crosses of the Fascists. Sporadic flack exploded in amongst them, but it was like throwing a pebble into a tidal wave.

On the ground they were being decimated, pushed back all the way to the Volga and their line was very close to breaking. They had lost communication with command and what orders they did conflicted and countermanded one another. Made only worse by the Political officers issuing their own directives and killing those who failed to follow them.

Alexandrov watched men, his men, and all the others who had come to defend this city die. Men were obliterated by artillery fire, blown to bits while other were picked off with accurate rifle fire. Others yet were cut down by the damned machine guns of the fascists. The dirt itself was turning red and clumping like clay, but from blood, not water.

Terrible shrieking, howling filled the air as the stukas of the fascists descended down onto them. Their howling only interrupted as they they unleashed streams of machine gun fire, tearing up the ground and men that they chased after with equal ease. They dropped bombs as they pulled up sharply, the dark instruments of death falling away and obscuring a group of men in the blast. When it cleared, the men were gone. It was that which finally broke the Soviet line. Alexandrov watched the men in front of him, many barely more than boys break and run. Fear, outright stark terror on their faces. The kind that is beyond reasoning, beyond reasserting discipline. It was a rout.

Alexandrov's hand reflexively went to his pistol holster, but he took his hand away from the weapon. These men would not fear him more than the Fascists. If threats could make them stay and fight, they would have never run in the first place. Yet, he couldn't allow the Fascists a victory, could not allow them another step into the Motherland.

Alexandrov ran out of his forward command post and towards the front line and the lines of fleeing Soviet infantrymen. Vlad hot on his heels, a PPSH clutched firmly in his grasp.

"Stay! Stay and fight!" yelled Alexandrov to the men fleeing past him on either side. Those farther ahead scrambling down the ridge of broken mortar and brick. Of buildings slain and brought low by artillery fire. The men paid him no mind, too intent on flight. In the field beyond, the Fascists advanced, their gray uniforms like a spreading cancer upon the land.

Alexandrov looked around and he seized upon a flag still held in the grasp of the dead man who had been charged with carrying it. He lifted it high and ran up the shifting ridge of brick and debris, the only one advancing with him Vlad. Standing atop the ridge finally and in full view of the enemy. He began to wave the flag and shout.

"Stand! Stand and fight for the Motherland! Where do you run to?! Your home? Do you think that you can escape this? This plague that has come to our land? This vile abomination on our soil? That they will spare your home? Your wife? Your children? They will not! You cannot escape it! If you will not fight for the Motherland, then stand and fight for them! Do you think that these devils, these demons will stop here and let you live in peace? If you run today you will live, but for how long? And your families will not! These Fascists bastards will see to that! They intend to hunt us down like animals, like vermin! I for one choose to stand and fight here! Now! Stand my ground like a man and if necessary die like one! If they wish to kill my family, they must first go through me! If I am to die, I do so now on my own terms! Not theirs! As my choice! Not living in fear of the day the finally come for me! I will stand my ground! Who will stand with me? I ask you as your officer, as your Comrade, as a man fighting for his home and family, stand with me now! Keep these devils here! Keep these monsters away from our homes! This is where we stop them! This is where we show them our strength! Stand with me now brothers! This is where we fight!"

There was a single crack of a rifle firing and the clack of a bolt working and Alexandrov saw a young soldier, a man of maybe 17 years firing his Mosin towards the advancing Fascists, focused utterly on the oncoming Gray tide.

"He has the courage! Do you? Come now Comrades! I will stand right here with you to the end! I will not abandon you! Do not abandon us!"

Alexandrov was running along the top of the ridge, waving the flag madly back and forth as he did so, shouting, exalting, and cursing those around him to stay and fight. And amazingly, they did.

It was a trickle at first, but soon it turned into a steady stream of men taking up positions and soon a staccato of rifle fire was cutting into the advancing Fascist horde.

Bullets were zipping and hissing past Alexandrov like angry serpents, kicking up dirt at his feet and passing close enough to let him feel the air of their passing on his skin. He ran from position to position, soldier to soldier, directing their fire, offering words of encouragement, and bolstering their resolve.

"Yes! Just like that! Five round bursts! Aim low! Aim low! Keep firing, we want as much lead going out as possible! Do not stop shooting! Good! Keep doing that," encouraged Alexandrov and then he was up again and running, still clutching the flag in both hands and Vlad loyally, staying right on his heels.

Hot pain exploded through Alexandrov's head and his officer's hat went flying high into the sky, while he went tumbling down the ridge. The broken brick and debris struck, clawed, and jabbed at him as he fell down the hill. He hit the bottom heavily, but against his protesting body, he forced himself to stand, Vlad helping to pull him to his feet. He wiped at the sweat that was pouring down his head onto his neck, and his hand came away sticky and covered in crimson. Without pausing, Alexandrov grabbed the fallen flag and charged back to the top of the ridge line, the men having stopped firing when they saw him fall.

"I'm not dead yet, and neither are the Fascists! Don't stop firing! Come on, come on! Keep firing!" bellowed Alexandrov, waving the flag back and forth. Alexandrov didn't know how long the fighting went on for, or how he managed to stay alive, but eventually they pushed the Fascists back and the men though exhausted, were proud of themselves, and of their Major. Reinforcements, though delayed, managed to arrive in time to consolidate their position and form an unbreakable redoubt from which the Fascists would advance no further.

"Ow," protested Alexandrov as Vlad wrapped his head in a bandage.

"Oh quit being a baby Comrade Major. Now you'll have a scar like a real man. Your face needed some character anyways."

 _January 1std 1968 AD 1st Gate Army HQ_

Colonel General Alexandrov traced the scar along the side of his head with a finger, before putting on his officer's field cap. He grabbed his holster off of its stand and secured it firmly around his waist, before pulling out the pistol, Vlad's TT33 and checking the load of it before re-holstering it.

"You know Vlad you were right. It does add some character," said Alexandrov, looking at his scar in the mirror as he traced it with his finger one final time.

He was soon in his personal jeep with his escort and looking over some of the more recent reports as they headed once more out to the makeshift refugee camp outside their walls. He was wracking his brains for what to do with all of those who had come to Camp Zhukov seeking aid. There were those who were completely dependent on them. The old, the sick, the children, and those who had been maimed. Still, there was a large healthy body of manpower to pull from and justify their presence to the more reserved of the Politburo who were balking at the costs of looking after them.

It seemed that Konev had been right after all about creating a paradise in this world. With much of the farmland having been stripped bare, and grain stores depleted by the army that Alexandrov's forces had repulsed, there was a small, but steady stream of of refugees and escaped slaves coming to Camp Zhukov. It was averaging about a hundred a day and the last official count had been 53 231 non-citizens that they were providing for.

The next project that was on the agenda was building a railroad to connect Falmart to the Soviet Union, and more importantly to the mineral rich Big Deep mines. Swinging a hammer under the supervision of engineers would most likely be a manageable enough task for anyone, no matter their skill level.

That didn't mean that they were free of problems in the refugee camp however. Despite providing for them with food, clothing, and lodging maintaining order with a multitude of people's and races was proving difficult. Old feuds dating back centuries were flaring up with often swift and brutal results. For the most part it was just beatings, but more than one corpse had appeared.

Even within the races themselves, tribal rivalries were proving to be incredibly troublesome. Within the warrior bunnies especially. It had not turned into outright murder yet, but having them sit and be idle was not helping the situation. It was letting them brood on old animosity and allowing it to grow.

He needed to think of something that could occupy them and keep them busy and out of trouble, but for the life of him other than the rail project he couldn't think of anything. Not only that, but many of the races would refuse to work side by side. The Warrior Bunnies especially could have prickly pride when forced to work alongside those they thought of as their inferiors. Ever since they had lost their homeland...that was it.

The Empire worked by conquering and expanding surrounding countries and tribes, subsuming their territories and amalgamating them into the Empire. The war against the Empire would largely be dictated by how strong they wanted the relations between Moscow and the other Japan and America to be. Already word was that they wanted Moscow to seriously curb their ambition in Falmart which would limit the territory that they could simply annex and shrink their sphere of influence. But what if it the Soviet Union wasn't pushing to acquire all of the territory for itself? Rather pushing to let the different races and ethnic groups reclaim their lands and homes?

If the warrior bunnies, dark elves, wood elves, and host of other races under the boot heel of the Empire were to have their claims pressed, who would object to that?

NATO, America especially wished to appear the champion of the downtrodden and oppressed to the world. Bringing freedom and joy wherever they went, so it would put them in an awkward position if they opposed a Soviet initiative to free slaves and give them back their homes. What would they tell their people? No, we want them to remain slaves and everything they have will continue to belong to the empire?

And those people who would be given back their lands and freedom by the grace of Soviet influence, would they not be grateful to the Union? Would they not be sympathetic to them and their message? A new union of states in Falmart to add to the Warsaw Pact. Armies that could be raised to exert a greater reach without greater commitment of Soviet resources. Armies that the Soviet Union could arm and win the good will of their people by doing so.

The Japanese and Americans could have a neutered Empire, the Soviet Union would surround itself with a collection of loyal and diverse states. Of course it would need the approval of the Politburo and it wasn't a guarantee, but nevertheless Alexandrov began to scribble down a rough draft as they drove to the refugee tent city.

The tour went much the same as it always did, things were doing better all the time, it was just the sheer volume of patients needing to be treated, and continue to be treated that was the biggest concern, but they were managing.

The engineers were constructing more permanent housing for the freed slaves and refugees complete with plumbing and electricity that would greatly improve sanitation amongst them. More bedding and mosquito nets were becoming available as well as veterinarians.

It had been an oversight on Alexandrov's part to not have put in a request for them initially, for although races such as Warrior Bunnies and elves had much the same physiology as humans, others were much closer to the animals that they resembled.

Alexandrov was lost in thought still when Rissien got his attention.

"General, this woman wishes to speak with you."

Alenadrov looked over and saw the warrior bunny that he had carried to the medical tent those weeks ago. He recognized her immediately because of her incredibly green eyes.

She was dressed in gray Soviet PT clothing of a simple pair of shorts and t-shirt. She had long brown hair that fell past her shoulders, but like many of her kin was missing half of an ear. She looked much healthier now though, not so anemic and she had fresh white bandages on her arm.

She began speaking and Rissien translated for her.

"She says that she owes you her life General. That you saved her from a death lacking honor and a life without meaning. She says that she acknowledges you as the taisech of not only her and what remains of her tribe, but all Warrior Bunnies. She pledges yourself to your service and that her life that you saved is now yours to do with as you wish. She says that she offers herself to you and your cause body and soul. She is known as Aneira, though her tribe is too scattered to have meaning anymore," said Rissien as the Warrior Bunny went down to her knees. Alexandrov's guards made to grab her as she pulled out a small blade, but were waved away as instead of attacking she made a small cut on her palm and grasped Alexandrov's hand, smearing her blood on his hand. Then she kissed Alexandrov on his bloody knuckles, in a similar fashion as the others had, but different at the same time.

Alexandrov caught a glimpse of a tattoo on her neck as she did so. A black circle with three arrows pointing out from the center.

"General, she is a wind dancer," said Rissien sounding shocked.

"What is that?"

"They are the best of their race General, their greatest warriors. One of them, especially one as skilled as her tattoo says she is, is said to be worth a hundred legionnaires and she has pledged herself to you. This is...no wind dancer had ever pledged themselves to one outside of their race or High Taisech ever. Especially not one who has achieved her rank. This is completely unheard of."

"So it is an oath of fealty?"

"More than that General, it is their oath of blood. It is the highest honor that can be bestowed on another. She has sworn to stand by you no matter what you may do or what obstacles you may face. She believes that in doing this, she is literally giving you her soul. That if you so chose you could cast her soul into hell for all eternity. It is the absolute expression of trust and loyalty General. She is yours forever now, and you will never have a more loyal companion."

Xxx

 _1966_ _AD_ _Somewhere in Vietnam_

"General McCallister will be at the SOG base for inspection two weeks from now, our sources have assured us of this. It is more forward of the majority of American units and we've kept the area fairly quiet, drawing their forces further towards the Cambodian border and towards the coastal regions with raids by both the Vietcong and the NVA. However, it is well within the range of Phantom and Skyraider attack aircraft and we don't have the air power to challenge them. If we raise the alarm and they manage to get a call out, they'll burn the entire area around the camp to cinders with napalm, and anyone with it."

"What about the fire base here?"

"We have another pair of NVA regular companies that are going to attack it as soon as we take on the SOG camp. They'll be too busy dealing with the attack to respond to requests for fire is what we're hoping. It's only a small base though so we're thinking that they're going to overrun it anyways."

There was a small group of men, less then a dozen scattered around a table strewn with maps and photos with a single overhead light hanging above them. It illuminated the table, but left the edges of the room in shadow. The men weren't Vietnamese though. No, to a man they were Russian. Elite special forces, all of them veterans of many operations and theaters. All of them killers.

"I say we go for it. We have a full battalion of NVA regulars at our disposal and there's at most a company of Green Berets and their trained militia. No more than 10 Green Berets amongst them. If we bring back McCallister's head, it will be a great morale victory for the NVA and a huge propaganda loss for the Americans. Even if we lost half of them, it would be more than worth it for the propaganda purposes alone."

It was the youngest who had spoken, but he had brought an entire team with him to Vietnam, one in which he was in charge of. He was young yes, but he had already established a reputation as being utterly ruthless in his short career. A psychopath given a license to kill for the Motherland and one who took liberty with that license whenever he could without hesitation. Bringing his special brand of brutality when seeing a mission through. Whenever things were about to get violent, or were, he would always smile.

"The risk with so little time to prepare is-"

"Acceptable when the target is a general," cut in the younger man. "Killing him is worth the risk, and whatever the cost may be."

Xxx

"This is an evil place, we should not be here," muttered a legionnaire to his companion next to Octavian, the man appearing as though he was a turtle wanting to retreat within its shell. Hunched within his armour and peering out from the confines of his steel helmet cautiously.

Octavian found that he should have reproached his man for speaking such words, possibly treasonous words, but found that he could not agree more. They had traveled long and far under the Apostle Charon, traveling to the far reaches of the Empire and into its oldest forest, and possible most unholy.

The trees grew tall here, but they grew wrong. The branches were old and gnarled, twisted like an old man's hands plagued with arthritis and gout. The bark was wavy and ridged, almost forming faces in one were to look hard enough on the skin of the tree.

The water here was stagnant, dark, and undrinkable. Yet they saw many animals here, none of them correct. They had hunted a deer their first night here, and yet when they had split it open, the meat had been black and rotten, not to mention the teeth of the beast. Not that of a mild mannered deer, but that of a wolf or some other predator. Meat still stuck in its fangs and rotting it its belly. Such a thing was unnatural, even in a world of magic and gods.

The unease was not just limited to the men either, the horses were equally as unsettled. They were increasingly jumpy, skittish, and already 3 men had been injured from being thrown from panicking horses. One had run off into the brush and they had never seen it again. Octavian would be more than glad when they left this place.

Their guides were picking their way nimbly, if warily through the forest and leading the way to...somewhere.

They were satyrs, goat men and women whom Charon had 'enlisted' much the same way that he had Octavian's legionnaires and the Messalonians. The satyrs had known where he had spoken of and had vehemently refused to show the way. That had been their biggest mistake, you did not say no to Charon.

He had murdered half the village and maimed another quarter. It had been jarring how quickly he had gone from politely and glibly conversing with the village elder to slicing him in half with his massive scythe. Then, after he had murdered any who had tried to stop him and many who hadn't, he picked another to politely converse with and repeat his request. They had agreed immediately after that.

Though Octavian didn't dare to utter the words aloud, barely dared to think them within the confines of his own mind he had come to the conclusion that Charon was not an Apostle of Hardy. Sure he went through the motions and would lead them all in prayer after their morning meal, but he was certain it was nothing more than an act. The men who took up and set up his tent, who cleaned it, whispered of things that were not rituals of Hardy. Octavian had never heard of living sacrifices to Hardy before, and there were less satyrs now then when they had started out with. No one, Octavian included dared to ask Charon where they had gone either.

They had been marching for so long and at the same pace for so many days, it came as a mild shock when they actually came to a halt, Octavian pulling back on the reins of his mount to stop from bumping into the men in front of him.

They waited for a few minutes with no results and then grudgingly Octavian spurred his mounts into motion and rode to the front of the column, keeping his head down to guard against the low hanging branches that grabbed at and snagged onto him.

Octavian pulled back sharply on the reigns, partly in shock, and partly to avoid running over the supposed apostle.

He was standing impassive, holding one of the satyr girls by her goat-like horns who was grimacing in a mixture of pain and fear; clutching at the hand holding her as her hooves kicked in futility through empty air.

Charon was staring at four large stone obelisks with intricate carvings and runes on them, as well as the remains of pulped satyrs smeared across their fronts.

A stark cry of terror sounded as Charon cocked his arm holding the satyr back, like he was preparing to throw a ball, before seeming to lose interest in what he was doing and almost with a sense of resignation and a weary sigh, let the satyr drop to the ground below. She fell to her backside and stared at Charon in a mixture of disbelief and horror. In an instant she was on her feet and running back the way that Octavian had come from.

"If you leave the company I'll spoon out your eyes and feed them to you," called Charon nonchalantly to the fleeing satyr, his words acting like a thrown rock, making the girl stumble and begin walking; albeit while sobbing.

"And what can I do for you today Captain?" asked Charon cheerily, whirling in place with a smile on his face, massive scythe resting on his shoulder.

"I had merely wondered as to our progress and why we had stopped Lord," said Octavian, keeping his voice level and tone respectful.

"Oh yes, about that. We appear to have him a bit of a snag," grinned the Apostle, jerking his thumb towards the gore smeared obelisks.

"Those are magic totems you see, can't just go past them, or at least I can't at any rate. A mortal like you and your men could, though I sincerely doubt that you would get past what lays ahead."

"If I may be so bold my lord, what lays ahead?" asked Octavian, being sure to keep his tone neutral and respectful.

"You may not," answered Charon curtly, pursing his lips and bouncing his massive scythe on his shoulder. "Tell me Centurion, how would you get past an obstacle like this?"

"Well my lord, if these pillars were stopping my advance I would break them apart."

"They are quite indestructible I am afraid."

"Then I would pull them out of the ground and drag them out of the way my lord."

"Oh? What makes you think you could do that Centurion?"

"Well if the pillars will let us pass them, it stands to reason that they would not molest them were we to manipulate them my lord. We have 100 horses, a score of men and a handful of dragons. We could dig out the base and attach ropes to pull them out. Assuming they don't extend to Hardy's domain we should be able to do it."

"Excellent idea Centurion, get to it," clapped Charon happily.

Xxx

"You know you wouldn't be so tired if you hadn't stayed up so late," said Boris to Luella, the elf only managing to keep her eyes half open and nearly falling asleep any time that they stopped.

"I went to bed before you did, why aren't you tired?" asked the elf, stifling a yawn.

"I'm used to late nights and early mornings, unlike a certain someone who promised that they wouldn't be tired, or complain."

"I haven't complained," offered Luella after a moment's pause. "Oh, by the way, I got you something for New Years," said the elf, new energy and excitement taking hold of her as she reached into a small satchel bag that she had taken to carrying.

She pulled out a glass jar with a flower inside that Boris had never seen before with intricate swirling blue, white, and purple colors on the petals with yellow extensions in the center.

"I know how your wife said that she liked flowers so I went and made one for you to take back to her. I also made it really durable since you told me that everything she plants dies, but I don't know how it will do against the cold, but it should bloom in the winter. Do you like it?" asked the elf eagerly.

"Oh, it's beautiful Luella, thank you," said the old veteran, taking the flower, an instant smile making its way onto Luella's face.

"I'm glad you like it."

"You said that you made it though? Like from nothing? That's incredible."

"W-well, n-not from nothing mumbled Luella blushing. I-I took some seeds from the Dew Rose and grew it from that. W-well, not just from that. Obviously I h-had a few others with me. Flowers that is, w-well their seeds anyways."

"Luella, it's fine, you don't need to tie yourself in knots about it. It's a beautiful flower and I love it and my wife will definitely love it. Calm down there darling," said Boris ruffling the Elfin girl's hair until she squeaked in protest.

"Come on beautiful, we've got to go see how the Lieutenant is doing," said Boris and resumed walking."

"Beautiful," breathed the Elfin girl under her breath as she stared at the retreating back of the old veteran. "He called me beautiful." Luella smiled dreamily for a few moments before Boris called out for her to catch up with him.

They came to Feliks' room and Boris rapped his knuckles sharply on the door, more a byproduct of military life than actual conscience intent.

"Lieutenant Volkov? Lieutenant? Are you in there Comrade? Lieutenant Volkov?" asked Boris again, opening the door to the room and finding it in much the same condition that he had seen it in yesterday, save for the form on the single bed wrapped in its covers against the morning light.

"Got a hell of a hangover eh?" chuckled Boris walking over to the bed with Luella looking in curiously.

"Um, Boris," began Luella with a trace of confusion in her voice.

Boris ripped the blanket off of the sleeping Lieutenant, only to find that it wasn't Volkov at all, but the silver-haired mercenary laying face down and naked on said Lieutenant's bed.

"Uhh," said Boris dumbly, trying to think of a better response. Before he could, Luella darted in front of him and pulled the covers back up over top of Ianthe who hadn't even stirred at the disturbance. Then the small elf turned around with a cross look on her face and hands on her hips.

"You shouldn't go into a lady's room when she's sleeping, or pull back the bed covers," chastised the petite elf. "It's not nice."

"This isn't her room Luella."

The cross look on the girl's face disappeared and was instead replaced by one of deep concentration and thought.

"No...it's not," said the elf slowly. "She must have been very tired last night," concluded the elf with an air of satisfaction.

Boris let out a sigh at the girl's naivete and put his arm around her shoulders.

"Come on, we should let her get some sleep and see if we can find the Lieutenant somewhere else."

"Okay," agreed the elf cheerily.

xxx

"You know I've missed doing this," said Dr. Pajari hiking in civilian attire and shorts with a small backpack on. A wide brimmed bush hat on his head to shield him from the sun as he set a comfortable, if albeit purposeful pace. They were now several miles from Zhukov in the valleys surrounding it without another soul in sight.

"Yes Doctor," intoned Felicia in a monotone, the red-haired warrior bunny parroting the reply that Pajari found most acceptable in any situation.

A good hike in the fresh air really allows the mind to breathe, wouldn't you agree?"

"Indeed it does Doctor."

"You know Greek Scholars believed that when they debated or discussed new theories they should walk and talk about it. Allow more air into the blood and their blood to circulate faster to the brain and thereby think with greater power. Maybe not as true as they believed, but I've always found that walking in nature has a way of clearing the cobwebs from my brain and invigorating me. The philosophers of Ancient Greece though lacking the knowledge we have now, did not lack intuitiveness or understanding."

"Yes Doctor."

"Tell me Felicia, why do you only ever say yes doctor and agree with whatever it is that I say? Are you afraid of me? That I may hurt you again if you say anything else?"

"...Yes...Doctor, I am," answered the warrior bunny, voice hushed and breathless like her chest was in a vice and she was unable to breathe, for in a way that was exactly how she felt.

Felicia took in a sharp intake of breath as the doctor put his hand under her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. It was not a harsh movement, but one that nonetheless filled her normally empty golden eyes with terror and made her body tremble.

"You have nothing to fear from me so long as you obey. Do you understand Felicia?"

"Yes...yes I do. I understand Doctor."

"Good," smiled Pajari, frowning a moment later when Felicia's ears went up straight vertical and rigid.

"What is it?"

"Four men Doctor, moving quietly, but there is a rattle of steel on them."

"Bandits then?"

"Most likely Doctor."

"I see. Should we run then?"

"They would only catch us Doctor, they're already here."

"Then I suppose we should wait here, it's an advantageous spot," mused Pajari. As it turned out, they didn't have to wait too long at all for the men stalking them to make themselves known.

"Damned beast women, have such good hearing," grumbled a muscled man in filthy clothing as he and three other men slowly emerged from the forest around them, blocking the trail ahead of them. They had on the remains of mercenary garb. Cheap mercenary garb. Boiled leather armor, low quality steel weapons, and little acquaintance with either soap or water.

Good morning to you gentlemen, I see that you enjoy nature's bounty as much as I do then?" asked Pajari in flawless Common.

"I prefer a more silver bounty if you know what I mean," said the man, idly playing with the axe in his hand.

"Then I am afraid that we are unable to assist you, for you see we have no money, merely the clothes on our back and food in our packs."

"And steel on your hips," said the bandit gesturing to the machetes adorning both Pajari's and Felicia's hips.

"Merely for clearing our path when the brush becomes too dense, I assure you."

"You expect me to believe that a man who can afford good steel, comes from the Mottled Men's Camp, _and_ owns a slave has no silver? I'm not a fool. I'm sure that if you don't have silver, your house will pay much to get you back."

"You're welcome to what we have, but I can tell you that you'll get no silver for either me or my assistant."

"I know I am, and we'll just have to see about them giving some silver for you eh?"

The large bandit started towards Pajari, but suddenly found his way blocked by the red-haired warrior bunny.

"What? Is this little thing going to fight me?" laughed the bandit.

"Not unless I tell her to," said Pajari evenly.

"Ha! This this beast woman is going to stop me? I think I'll keep her, always wanted a warrior bunny slave," said the man, reaching out and groping Felicia's breasts through her shirt. The warrior bunny merely stood there motionless as the man fondled her. Like a doll her eyes remained lifeless, as if she was made of porcelain and cloth.

"Already trained too huh? Nice. Now step aside bitch. I said move," growled the man when Felicia stayed where she was as if rooted to the spot.

"Felicia...break his shoulder," said Pajari calmly in Russian.

Like as if a switch had been flipped, Felicia's eyes came to life and she drove the palm of her hand into the man's solar plexus, winding him and causing spittle to fly from his mouth as he staggered backwards, clutching at his injured chest.

Felicia's leg went nearly straight up, then like a meteorite came crashing down with her heel striking the man on the shoulder with a sickening crunch that saw the man's left arm sink noticeably lower to his side. He stood dumbly for a moment, then began shrieking in pain as his companions readied their weapons.

"The name _warrior_ bunny isn't just a name gentlemen, it's an earned title. An honorific. You would do well to remember that," said Pajari walking up to Felicia and lifting up the hair by her neck for the other bandits to see. A black tattoo was revealed near the base of her hairline, three arrows pointing out from a circle. Recognition dawned on the bandits faces, followed swiftly by fear.

"More than that, my assistant is a Warrior Bunny wind dancer. So named for the speed for which they move...and the swiftness in which they kill. Moving amongst ranks of their foes like the wind itself. The number of arrows coming from the circle on their neck tells of their skill and prowess. The highest level is three gentlemen."

There was a rasp of steel as Pajari drew his machete and tossed it to Felicia's feet, the steel blade glinting in the morning light.

"Felicia...kill them."

"Yes Doctor," said Felicia, crouching down like an Olympic sprinter, grasping Pajari's machete in her hand, before exploding outwards with incredible speed.

The largest bandit who was still grasping his broken shoulder brought his ax back with a roar and attempted to split the warrior bunny's head.

Felicia dodged to the side and was in an instant on the man's shoulder, already withdrawing the length of steel from his neck before he even understood what was happening.

She leaped from his shoulders onto the bandit behind him as the first man fell, driving the second to the ground beneath her weight and twin steel blades that had sprouted from his chest. Felicia then rolled forwards out of the swing of the third man's sword, turning as she did so and bringing her first blade across the back of his knees, severing the tendons in them. He fell back with a cry of pain, before having his cry cut short by a second length of steel removing his windpipe.

The last man in desperation tried to bash in Felicia's head with a studded club, only for the club and most of his arm to fly away as Felicia brought her blades across in an X in front of her. Before the man had taken so much as a step backwards, Felicia had driven the one machete into his heart, and the other into his throat. The man was dead before he hit the ground.

Felicia spun the blades in her hands to fling the blood off of them, turning green grass crimson, before sheathing her own machete and offering Pajari's back to him, holding it up to him while she went down to one knee.

"Good work Felicia, I'm proud of you," said Pajari, taking back his own machete and sheathing it, causing the warrior bunny's head to shoot up in surprise at the praise.

"Oh, hold still," said Pajari grabbing hold of her chin, causing Felicia's mind to go blank with terror, before his other hand produced a handkerchief and wiped a smear of blood from her face.

"There, all better. Can't have you coming back to the camp covered in blood now can we? Come along now Felicia."

"Yes Doctor," said Felicia quickly, picking up her pack that she had dropped and falling in step behind the Doctor.

xxx

It ended up taking several days, seemingly surprising even Charon himself at how involved the task had become. The stone obelisks went down deep and widened out at the base, making pulling them out all the harder. They dug slopes so that they could drag them out, but even with every man and beast at their disposal, it was still a physically excruciating project. The dragons had startled the horses and had been less than pleased at being used as beasts of burden. So much so that after a great deal of wasted time they had decided to forgo the use of the creatures. The delay had...displeased Charon, though he seemed to be refraining from indulging his anger on those around him. Most likely to avoid slowing down the work.

It was finally nearing its end now though. Every time that they managed to pull one out the runes on its surface would glow brightly for a few moments before guttering out like a dying candle. This seemed to please Charon who would have them drag the giant stones deeper away into the forest and farther away from the remaining obelisks.

The smell of freshly turned dirt and clay mixed with horse and human sweat into an unpleasant musk that settled over their camp and into their clothes. There wasn't enough water to bathe with, and what they could gather from around them would cause rashes or give men terrible bowel pains even after straining and boiling it. The only reprieve had been when it had rained and allowed them to stand outside in the downpour and replenish some of their water supply. After it had ended though, the air had become thick and heavy with buzzing insects that bit and tore at a man until they left angry welts and made rivulets of blood stream down their body.

They were ugly things, black and red with multifaceted eyes that only buzzed angrily when you swatted at them. When you finally did manage to squash them, it was with a sharp _crunch_ leaving a blotch of foul smelling ichor that seemed to only draw more of them. Thankfully they seemed to only come shortly after the rains and linger for only a short while.

They were all stripped to the waist, all weapons and armor laid down so as to not impede their work. Octavian himself was in amongst his men helping to pull. It served a twofold purpose to do work that most Imperial officers would have considered far beneath their station. As a Centurion it was expected that he would lead by example and never make his men do something that he was not willing to do himself. The second reason was that the mood of his men was souring and morale was dropping steadily. Worst of all, it was completely understandable and Octavian felt the same way.

They didn't know where they were. They had no idea what they were doing. The living conditions were miserable, and the work was near back-breaking. They resented being under Charon's control. Resented how he had so casually killed one of their own for a Messalionian escaping. A death that Octavian felt personal responsibility for.

Octavian himself felt resentment towards Charon, but for a slightly different reason. He tried to seem glib and always in control. A wise and powerful apostle, but he was prone to petulant fits of murderous rage the moment something didn't go his way. Treating life as little more than a child does grass they pull from the earth. Something to uproot in absent minded boredom or take your rage out upon, with no regard for what damage was left behind.

The satyr girl who Charon had decided not to murder in his frustration was on the rope in front of Octavian, pulling for all she was worth, which wasn't much anymore. Satyrs weren't made for this kind of work. They were sure footed and hardy, but they were also slight of build and the girl hadn't been sleeping too well from what he could tell. Her eyes were always red from weeping, though no one ever saw her cry and she hardly ate. Needless to say, it seemed that she was very close to collapsing and that was what she did several times, falling to her knees before staggering back up to her feet. Each time slower than the last.

Octavian was from the Empire which had a certain disdain for demi-humans or nonhumans, but one of the reasons he did so well as an officer is because he cared for each and every man under his command, as willing to lay down his life for them as each of them was expected to for the Empire. It was an empathy that he couldn't turn off merely because someone under his command wasn't entirely human.

During the next pull, Octavian leaned in close to the satyr's ear.

"Don't pull anymore, just keep the line taut. It'll be alright," whispered Octavian. The satyr gave no indication that she heard him, but on the next command to pull, her arms and shoulders no longer trembled as violently and she didn't fall to her knees again.

With a mighty heave they were able to finally pull the obelisk out of the pit and forward far enough so that it was no longer in danger of falling back in. Dragging it through the underbrush was still hellishly taxing, not not nearly so much as pulling it free of its earthy mooring had been.

They pulled it into the forest until Charon deemed that they had pulled it far enough. It had been like hat with all of them, the apostle circling the obelisk each and every time like a bird of carrion deciding if its prey was too weak to resist anymore.

"Alright, that's far enough. That should be the last one

With a palpable groan of relief, the work part released the ropes, letting aching muscles finally rest. Some merely standing in place and panting. After a few moments they began to move again, first unhooking the horses and bringing them forage and water, tying them to posts and trees so that they would not spook and run off as others had. Posting guards so that no predators, human or otherwise would try to make off with the horses.

They lined up for food by way of seniority, Octavian allowing the Messalonians and their prickly pride to go first. First their knights, then their officers, then squires, and finally their footmen. When Octavian's men were next to eat, Octavian allowed his officers to eat first, but he himself stayed out of the line of food until all of his men had gotten their portions. It was odd for an Imperial officer to do, but Octavian had to set an example.

If there was to be a shortage of food, he would share in the hardship as much as the lowliest of legionnaire. It was why he partook in all the work that they did. No man would have resentment grow towards their officer if they were in the same boat as them, or in fact was worse off than a common soldier.

They had enough food however, and soon everyone was eating and resting. The sentries having been relieved so that they could eat as well with others who had already eaten.

Octavian was eating his stew when he noticed the satyr from before trying to eat. Her hands and arms were trembling violently, having great difficulty even raising them above chest level. Spilling much of the food from her spoon before it was even halfway to her mouth. Octavian made his way over to her.

"Here, allow me," said Octavian, surprising the satyr and taking the spoon and bowl from her hands. He filled the spoon to the brim with stew and brought it to her mouth like how he had fed his infant son. She looked at him for a moment with large, doe-like brown eyes before taking the proffered food.

Octavian fed her until the stew was gone, then, held up her water gourd so that she could drink. She took several long slow droughts before Octavian took the gourd away from her lips.

"Thank you," said the satyr after a pause, her voice incredibly soft. Like raising it would cause her pain. "I had no expected an Imperial to show such kindness to a satyr. Oh, I see," said the woman noticing the tribal tattoos just peeking out from the edges of his sleeves. "You were not born in the Empire."

"We all start somewhere, but end up where we belong in the end."

"I don't belong here," said the satyr girl quietly.

"This isn't your end."

"It was for my father. And my mother, my brothers, and my sister. It was almost for me as well until that-"

The satyr fell quiet as Octavian put his fingers to her lips.

"It is best to not speak like that, for all of our sakes."

"I see. You are here the same as I am then. You and your men."

"We are."

"How did you get swept up in this?"

"By chance, same as the Messalonians."

"Did you bend the knee?"

"Yes. It seemed that refusal was not an option and I had no wish to test the punishment."

"Were only our elders so wise," said the satyr girl morosely. "Our village is done after this. Too many dead, too many injured, too many scattered. Can I sell myself to you? I can cook and clean, look after your armor and sharpen your sword. If you have other needs...I can take care of them as well."

"I will think on it, but I would not have need of your other services. I have eyes only for my wife and her alone."

"She is a lucky woman then. You seem like a good man Centurion, what is your name?"

"Octavian. Yours?"

"Calista."

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Calista."

"Yours as well. I implore you to take me into your service Octavian. The world is not kind to a woman on her own, especially a satyr. I would be no trouble I promise."

"Why so eager to serve?"

"I have nowhere else to go, and you seem like a kind man. I would be able to find no other work and I would merely be a slave to other satyr tribes. Satyrs...do not treat slaves kindly. Less so even than the empire."

"I will not accept so quickly," said Octavian after a few moments pause. I will give you a day or two to think about your offer in case you wish to retract it. If you still wish to give yourself to my service at the end of those two days I will accept."

"Your words have just convinced me that I have made the right choice in my master my lord," said Calista with a smile.

Xxx

"Aw, someone's tuckered out," commented Feliks, seeing Luella fast asleep inside the BTR and drooling ever so slightly. "And she's supposed to be helping to load up supplies."

"I don't mind at all if she sleeps the whole time Comrade Lieutenant. Our little angel there is a real life saver," said Dima, the armored sergeant.

He had a special soft place for the elf now. As short a time ago as yesterday he had been helping to hook up a trailer and had crushed his hand in between the hitch and trailer, pulping it. His hand had been beyond repair and he had only just wrapped it in a towel, still cursing and bleeding everywhere when Luella had wandered by.

She had rushed over upon seeing the wounded tanker and gingerly taken his mashed hand in between hers. Then she had begun to sing and Dima witnessed firsthand the miracles the little elf was capable of. His hand had been covered in golden light and he had watched amazed as it had reformed back whole and even better than before. Free of any scars or blemishes.

"She stayed up late last night reading," said Boris. "She said that she wanted read more Russian books so I managed to get a copy of Anna Karenina for her."

"Wow, letting her dive right in then huh? Isn't that a little advanced? I mean she only learned Russian a few months ago."

"No actually Lieutenant, she's practically devouring that book. I'm telling you, she quick as a whip that one."

"Just not when she's sleeping in the BTR," said Feliks. "Too bad that she fell asleep on the tracks."

"What?" asked Boris.

"And the responsibility train is coming," continued Volkov, hopping through the hatch into the BTR.

"Hey sweetie, I know that you're having a nice sleep, but it's time to WAKE UP!" yelled Feliks clapping his hands together loudly. "Huh, she's really out," said Feliks as Luella failed to so much as stir. So instead Feliks went and pinched her nose shut.

He watched for a few moments as the elf became to move in discomfort while asleep, before she jerked awake with a start.

"Time to get to work Luella," said Feliks to the drowsy elf.

"Okay," said the girl rubbing the sleep from her eyes, then a frown creased her face as she twitched her nose. "Did you pinch my nose?"

"Well you wouldn't wake up."

"Boooris, Feliks pinched my nose."

"Can't do anything darling, he outranks me."

"But it's not nice," protested the elf.

"Neither is sleeping when you're supposed to be working," said Feliks. Instantly a guilty look appeared on the girl's face and she looked down.

"No, it's not," agreed Luella.

"Well come on now, we've still got a few boxes to get loaded up," said Feliks hopping out of the BTR.

It wasn't like Luella was overly strong. She was fit for sure and nimble, but in terms of raw strength it was rather funny to watch her try to lift things, but she was very helpful in tying things down and what she could help carry she did. It was more about keeping her from acting like a spoiled child. She was good most of the time, but she had a teenage defiance streak in her from time to time.

Ianthe was around too, helping load things and getting everything ready to move. A change had come over her ever since they had come back from Japan. She had been morose and sullen, much less talkative and animated when she interacted with people. Withdrawn was a good way to put it.

He had first noticed it in the limo when the Russian Federation had been taking them back to the gate. He had recognized the look and how she had gripped her hands tight enough to break the skin. She was dwelling over her what she perceived as a failure on her part and it was tormenting her. Maybe she wasn't feeling useful since they had been cooped up for so long? He would have to figure out a way to improve her mood and he had a few ideas.

Xxx

"Hey Luella, come here," said Feliks gesturing with one of the two quarter staffs he was carrying.

"Oh? Okay," said the elfin girl cheerily, hurrying to his side.

It was the end of the first day of their long range patrol and they had just set up camp for the evening. Normal procedure would usually call for going into the forest and camouflaging the vehicles, but Feliks had decided against this. Their enemy could only engage them at close range so he instead had them stop in open fields or meadows where they had long, clear, and unrestricted fields of fire in case they were to be attacked. Being in the trees would limit the effectiveness of their weapons.

"What's with the sticks?" asked Luella.

"We're going to go talk to Ianthe," said Feliks.

They walked a little ways away from the main cluster of vehicles to where Ianthe was sitting on a stump, sharpening her sword absentmindedly with a stone and checking the edge with her thumb. Her dragon Maximus snoring loudly behind her, wing covering its massive head.

The mercenary looked up as Feliks approached, icy blue eyes meeting his and she stood up, bring her fist to her breast in a gesture of respect.

"Lord," said the mercenary, but eying the quarterstaves that Feliks was carrying.

"Tell her that I want to spar with her using staffs," said Feliks.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" asked Luella.

"Yes, it'll be fine."

"Okay," said the elf like she thought it was anything but.

Ianthe's face showed open surprise when Luella put forward Feliks' request.

"She wants to know how experienced you are," said Luella.

"Pretty good," said Feliks.

"Alright, she accepts," said Luella, as Ianthe took one of the staffs from Feliks, a bit of a bounce in her step whereas before she had seemed to only glumly shuffle as she warmed up, twirling the length of wood and stretching.

"This may not be a good idea," said Luella as Feliks set down his AK, vest, and helmet, watching as the Messalonian expertly twirled the staff between hands. "Maybe you should tell her that it's going to be a light spar. I think that she thinks that you mean something other than you do. Sparring is different in Messalon."

"Don't worry, we practiced with these in training."

"If you say so," said the elf.

Feliks and Ianthe squared off and there was a predatory gleam in the mercenary's eye, as she readied her staff.

"Okay, and go," said Luella.

Ianthe took the initiative and charged towards Feliks. He struck out with his staff and she blocked, the struck in turn and Feliks blocked. The cracks of wood on wood filling the clearing.

Just like in training, thought Feliks as he raised his staff to block an overhead blow. Instead of the staff descending from above, it thrust out like a spear striking Feliks in the face, making his eyes water and to stumble back in pain. Lightning fast Ianthe first struck him in the ribs on his right side, then his left sending waves of pain emanating from his chest, causing him to hunch up. Feliks' vision cleared just in time for it to be filled by a descending staff of wood and then everything went dark.

When the world came to light again, Feliks was on his back, looking up into the faces of a concerned wood elf and a bemused silver-haired mercenary. Ianthe said something in her native language that Feliks didn't understand, but the corners of her mouth were turned up in the smallest of grins.

"Ianthe says that you're not that good and you need more practice. She also says that you are going to practice every evening until you get better. Also you owe her money for disgracing yourself so badly."


	13. Chapter 13

AN: Before we start I just want to say I find it hilarious that a guy called me a commie and to go screw myself basically. In case anyone was wondering, I'm staunchly conservative so the fact he thought I have strong socialist and communist leanings just goes to show that I can write a very unbiased story.

Feliks stood where he was holding his quarterstaff as Ianthe circled him like some kind of predator, wearing a simple pair of pants and her black sleeveless shirt. Her own quarterstaff resting across her shoulders.

She walked up to him, looked him over one more time and then kicked him in the foot.

"Wider," she said in Russian.

Feliks widened his stance a little, then a little more as the mercenary kicked his foot again. She stared at the placement of his feet, then seemingly pleased enough continued to circle him.

"Closer," she commanded in Russian, grasping his hands and pushing them in closer to the center of the staff.

"One," said Ianthe and Feliks took a step forward, keeping his stance and struck forwards.

"Keep feet," said the mercenary kicking one of his feet until he moved it back to where she thought it should be. It wasn't hard, but if he didn't move quickly it would soon become painful.

"Two," said Ianthe and Feliks took another step forward, striking forwards with his staff.

"Keep feet," said the mercenary again irritably, more forcefully kicking Feliks' feet back into position.

"Three," said Ianthe and Feliks moved forwards again striking. Pain exploded across the back of his leg as Ianthe struck it and swept his legs out from under him, laying him out flat on his back. She was soon standing above him, a frustrated look on her face.

"Feet...apart. Weight...even. Stance...strong. Your stance...weak," said Ianthe in halting, broken Russian. "Push."

Feliks raised an eyebrow at that and a scowl graced the silver-haired mercenary's features.

"Push!" growled the mercenary kicking him in the ribs hard enough to get her point across without being sadistic and Feliks understood with a start that she wanted him to do pushups. Rolling onto his stomach he began doing pushups, wondering how many she would want him to do and trying not to laugh at the mercenary treating him like a recruit in basic.

He got to about sixty when it seemed that he had satisfied the mercenary for screwing up her instructions.

"Up," said the mercenary and Feliks was sure to move with purpose to avoid invoking the mercenary's ire. The pushups had been harder than they should have been and Feliks had to grudgingly face the fact that he had been slacking in his own physical fitness, but he was determined not to let it show.

"One," said Ianthe and Feliks moved, careful to keep his feet in as similar position as he could to what Ianthe wanted before he moved as after. He stood motionless as the mercenary picked him apart with her piercing gaze. "Two," she said after a moments pause and Feliks took a step while striking.

"Hard," said Ianthe striking forwards with her own staff, making a _whoosh_ of air as she did so. "Hard," she said again, emphasizing her point.

"Three."

Feliks took another step forwards, putting as much force as he could into the swing as he could and being sure to keep his footing proper.

He stood motionless as the mercenary eyed him up and down, picking him apart with her piercing gaze.

"Better," conceded the mercenary. "Four."

Feeling better about himself, Feliks took a step forwards and struck out with his staff.

"FEET! Feet! Keep your feet!" raged the mercenary throwing her own staff to the ground in frustration and let out a string of curses in her native tongue. The next thing Feliks knew, the mercenary was behind him, feet mirroring his and hugging him around the chest from behind.

"Step," commanded the mercenary. Awkwardly Feliks did, but before his foot touched the ground Ianthe pushed it with hers to the proper spot. "Step," said Ianthe again and Feliks took another step again, Ianthe's feet guiding his as he did so. Eventually they got faster at it until it was almost as if they were walking normally.

"Good for night," said Ianthe and Feliks realized that they had already been practicing for their allotted hour. "Improving," said Ianthe slowly, searching for the proper words. "But...still...shit."

"Well, at least you're honest," said Feliks in Common, making Ianthe's eyes widen in surprise.

"You've gotten much better at speaking Common."

"I've been practicing a lot," admitted Feliks.

"So then why the hell am I speaking Russian trying to train you?"

"Because you need to practice it."

"Oh? I suppose you're right. In fact, we should train for two hours tomorrow night so I can get all the practice I need," said Ianthe, an evil grin making its way on to her face as she did. "Sleep well my lord," continued the mercenary, bowing her head in respect and bringing her fist to her breast, before leaving to her own tent, or rather where she wanted to pitch it. They still had another hour of good light, two if you counted the twilight, so there had been no real rush.

Feliks on the other hand went to the command BTR and laid out a small ground sheet, then proceeded to take apart and clean his AKM. An idea suddenly came to him though as he finished cleaning and reassembled his rifle.

"Hey Ianthe, come over here for a while."

"Yes my lord," said the mercenary, but with some confusion in her voice.

"Take a seat," said Feliks as he plopped down on the ground sheet he had laid out on the ground.

"May I ask what we're doing my lord?"

"Well, since you're training me how to use a spear, I figured that I could teach you how to use a Kalashnikov. Here," said Feliks holding his rifle out to the mercenary.

Much to his shock, Ianthe actually looked at the rifle with fear, and didn't reach out to grab it. Actually pulling her hand back from it like it would bite her.

"Okay, how about this," said Feliks and moved so he was sitting right beside the mercenary, his rifle on his lap.

"All this rifle is, is pieces of metal and wood put together. Nothing magical about it, but just like your sword you still have to respect it. Here, it comes apart just like this."

Ianthe watched Feliks take the rifle apart, her ice chip blue eyes taking in every movement and every part that Feliks removed. He laid them all out in a line, then quickly reassembled the whole rifle.

"Now you try," said Feliks, yet to his amusement and mild frustration Ianthe didn't move to touch the rifle.

"Here," said Feliks grabbing her hand and placing it on the rifle. Ianthe's hand trembled a little bit, but her pride made her hold her hand still after a moment and then guiding her, he helped her take it apart. It was slow at first, as she fumbled with the unfamiliar parts and weapon. He let her hold each piece and look it over. Eventually putting it all back together again, though she grew frustrated with the spring.

"I never imagined that it was made of so many parts. It is more of a machine than a weapon," said Ianthe.

"Well we have a habit of turning our machines into weapons. Tomorrow after we're done training with staffs I'll run you through some drills on it. Just basic stuff like load, unload, make safe, and then once you get good and I'm reasonably sure that you're not going to shoot yourself I'll let you do some target practice."

"You would let me use your weapon?" asked Ianthe, sounding shocked.

"Sure. Never know, if we get into some trouble every rifle will count. Besides, I trust you with my life so I might as well trust you with my rifle."

"You honor me my lord. If I may ask, how long have you had these weapons?" Ianthe began taking the rifle apart again while she waited for Feliks to answer.

"Oh, I would say these came into service about twenty years ago or so. Before that it was the SKS and the STV 40 and the Mosin before that."

"So new? And yet you all have one?" marveled the mercenary.

"Soviet Industry is a hell of a thing. Did you now that seventy years ago we didn't have any planes at all?"

"Planes? You mean those things that fly right?"

"Yeah. In fact the first ones we had were made of cloth and wood. Your dragon over there would have ripped them to pieces."

"It is strange to think that so short a time ago as my grandfather being a young man, we may have lived much the same," mused Ianthe.

"Things have been changing extremely fast in the Union. In our world in general," said Feliks. When I was a kid we didn't have any plumbing, so if we wanted to have a bath in winter we would gather snow and melt enough of it to fill the tub. We'd heat it so that it wasn't freezing and then everyone would cycle through for a wash. I was seventeen before I actually saw a television."

"What's a television? Those picture boxes in Japan?"

"Yes, though ours aren't quite that good. Black and white only, no color."

"So the Japanese are more advanced than you then? Like the difference between my people and yours?"

"Not to that extent, but their technology is definitely better than ours."

"Could they beat you in a war then?"

"I wouldn't go that far," said Feliks. "But it would definitely be a hard fight."

"All the gates and things that come through them are enough to make my head hurt," muttered Ianthe, rubbing at her skull.

"So I annoy you do I?"

"Oh! No my lord, I-you're smiling."

"You're so easy to wind up you know that?"

"Are you sure that you're a lord?"

"I told you I'm not, I've just been given a commission in the Red Army."

"But you are an officer? We're not having a translation problem right?"

"No, I'm an officer."

"And you're not a lord."

"Nope."

"Okay, I'm not understanding this then. Do you own land at all? Farms, a ship, a shop maybe?"

"My parents own a farm, or rather work on a collective anyways."

"What's a collective?"

"It's a farm where the farmers and the state all own the farm equally and share it."

"What kind of fucked up world are you from?"

"One that kicked your ass. Ow," said Feliks as Ianthe lightly punched him in the shoulder. With a sigh she laid down with her arms behind her head.

"Almost a year ago I was a knight of high standing in Messalon with shares in shipping companies and a villa to my name. My services were worth prime gold and I had a troop of hardened mercenaries under my command. Men bowed when I walked by, and I had a household staff of slaves. Now I'm bound to a man with no titles, no wealth, no land, and no noble lineage."

"Well at least your new lord is handsome eh?" said Feliks with a chuckle. Ianthe's eyes flicked over to him and appeared to study him.

"Not bad," conceded the mercenary. "Hey Feliks," continued Ianthe.

"Yeah?"

"When I go back to Messalon, would you come with me? A letter of services rendered would be sufficient, but having someone in the flesh to say that I served honorably and dutifully would go a long ways to helping my cause. Messalon is a beautiful place too, you may grow to like it there. If you could maybe convince your general to offer a contract to the lords of Messalon..." trailed off Ianthe.

"I don't think he'd listen to me, I'm just a junior officer."

"You have his esteem though. Although you got your commission from the little elf."

"What? Really?" asked Feliks surprised.

"Yes. She offered her services to your Union on the condition that you were the one leading the group she would be assigned to, and that Boris would be in the group as well. You didn't know?"

"No, I had no idea," said Feliks honestly.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"How did you get that scar on your back? The large burned one?"

"That one? Well that's kind of a personal story."

"Most scars are. I was just curious how you got it, it looks like a burn scar."

"Well it definitely was fire that gave it to me," mused Feliks.

"So you're not going to tell me?"

"I didn't say that. Like I said, I trust you a lot. It's just that it's...embarrassing. If you really want to know I suppose I could tell you."

"I do," said the mercenary.

"Well...I guess the easiest way to put it...is that I fucked up," said Feliks slowly, his eyes appearing as if they were staring at something that only he could see.

"How so?"

"It's a long story, are you sure that you want to hear it?"

"That's why I asked," said Ianthe like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"There was a mission that I pushed to get approval for. I was in a different branch at the time, an elite soldier. Well, part soldier, part assassin I suppose; very hush hush stuff."

"So then why tell me so freely?"

"Who are you going to tell that it's going to matter to?"

"Just tell your damned story," grumbled Ianthe.

"So I had a team of men under my command, and I'd just recently been promoted. I was pretty sure of myself, arrogant would be a word for it. I was also good though, damned good and I never failed. I always pushed to be the best, to be someone who stood out from the crowd. I wanted recognition and I wanted glory, but more than that I wanted to fight."

"The country that we were helping had given us an entire battalion of men to help. So I had my ten men and 800 NVA troops to attack a camp with about 120 men and a general. This general was responsible the entire border between the north and the south and he was good. Too damned good and the north, our friends, were taking too many losses because of him. That's why I was so eager to jump at the chance to take him out."

"So what happened?"

"We went in and it almost immediately went to shit. They had the whole hillside rigged with mines and claymores. They're explosives that shoot metal balls with enough force to rip limbs off of bodies and go right through you like a bullet," explained Feliks when he saw nothing but confusion on Ianthe's face.

"Our sappers were supposed to clear us a path in and then the main force would follow, but one of them hit a trip flare, lit up the whole hill. We lost a hundred, maybe two hundred men just making it up to the wire. I had thought that the militia would just break and run. The south's troops were notoriously bad for both morale and discipline, but these ones were different. They were men from the mountain villages and trained by the Green Berets and they held their ground as good as any soldier I'd seen in that war. They _wanted_ to fight. They kept shooting until they melted the barrels on their guns or else ran out of ammo, then went in with bayonets and shovels. I would wager that they were even better than the troops the North gave us. Still, we had surprise and numbers on our side and we pushed into the camp. I took my men along with a section of the NVA troops and we went for the command bunker where the general was. I lost six of my men taking that bunker. Six out of ten and the entire NVA section that came with us. General McCallister himself killed one of my spetsnaz with a pistol. The Green Berets had gone to the General to guard him and they deserve to be called special forces I'll tell you that much. We got him though, I emptied a mag into him and splattered his brains all over the wall of that bunker."

"So then how did you get that scar on your back?" prodded the mercenary impatiently.

"I'm getting to that," assured Feliks. "By this time we'd cleared the hill, but we'd been there much longer than we should have been. That was our biggest mistake. It was just starting get light out and we'd lost about half of our men, but the rest were still alive, mostly uninjured and we'd gotten two companies of reinforcements that had helped us to finally crush the last resistance on that hill. They'd overrun a fire base further south and circled back to come and help. There were six hundred of us on that hill. Six hundred when the Phantoms showed up. Someone had gotten a call out before we destroyed the radio. Called in an airstrike on their own position. They knew they were going to die so they tried to take us with them. They set that entire hill and the jungle around it on fire. Everything was burning, everyone was running and just screaming. One of the napalm bombs exploded too close to me and it washed over me. I remember the feeling, like I had walked into a furnace and buried myself in the coals. I got so hot that the bullets in the mags on my vest started to cook off. If I would have had any grenades left I'd probably be dead. It burned through my bullet proof vest and clothes, actually melted the rubber on my boots. I remember screaming, _knowing_ that I was going to die and rolling around on the ground, _wanting_ to die so that the pain would stop. I thought I was in hell. Burned off most of my hair too, well, all of it actually. There's still a long thin scar that goes to the base of my neck where my radio antenna melted to me," said Feliks pulling down the collar of his tunic to show the scarred flesh.

"How did you survive?"

"Luck? Divine intervention? I have no idea. When I woke up the American marines and ARVN were picking through the bodies with their helicopters circling overhead and I made myself crawl into the jungle. They hunted me for two months in that fucking jungle. For the first month I hid, I cowered, and I licked my wounds. I was sure that if they didn't find me the bugs would eat me alive My back was going gangrenous with infection so I ripped open rotten logs to let maggots eat the rotten flesh. I lost weight, over 35lbs and I ate whatever I could. Bugs, scraps from the rations they dropped on the ground, anything I could find. I was in constant pain, terrible pain, was half delirious with fever, but there was just something in me that would not let me give up. The second month, that's when I started hunting them. The marines were hard, I barely got any of them and they were always looking out for each other. The ARVN on the other hand. Well, they were easy. Weak, undisciplined, easy to make panic. It's fair to say I went a little crazy. I…I did some things that I'm not sure why I did, but I just did. Things I'm not too proud of. I made a necklace. Why? I don't know. Maybe as trophies, maybe to occupy my mind, but whenever I managed to kill one of the soldiers hunting me I would cut off their ears and put them on this snare wire that I had. It had melted together in my pocket when I was lit on fire so I remember I was pretty proud of myself that I was able to make a length long enough to be a necklace."

"Once in a while I'd cut off their heads, leave them on stakes to scare the shit out of the rest of them and it worked. I kept one though. It was some ARVN grunt that I caught taking a piss alone. I don't know what his name was, probably Hoang or Hai, most of them were. I called him Fedor and I kept him in an ARVN pack I managed to steal. I talked to him a lot actually. When I was finally found by my side, it was the other team of Soviets that found me. Good thing too, the NVA would have shot me. The way I looked...they said I looked feral. Like I'd regressed or something and I was just operating on the reptile part of my brain. I was wearing only tatters of clothing, filthy as all hell and my hair was coming in all patchy like I was mangy. I actually _growled_ at them. But it was Valentin's men and Valentin was an old hand. NKVD in the Great Patriotic War and he just progressed from there. He coaxed me like the dogs that he trained and I listened to him. Fucked up thing is I remember being angry when they took my necklace of ears from me and Fedor out of my pack."

"They almost kicked me out right then and there once I was coherent enough to speak, but I had a few friends left, even after my massive fuck up. Enough superiors with their names attached to mine to cover up my breakdown so that they wouldn't be involved in it. I got some therapy, a long series of surgeries and a mercy pass on the psych test. Bumped down to regular army and sent to a garrison unit. Out of sight and out of mind. Lucky for me all of those files are sealed and you need to have a need to know to look at them, otherwise there's no way I'd have a command again. I lost my drive in Vietnam I think. I didn't want to have anywhere near that kind of responsibility again with so many lives depending on me. So I just went with the flow and just fit the role that I was in."

"You know, you're the first person I've told this. Well, all of this without making any shit up or only telling half truths. It feels kinda good actually. Don't know why I told you so much though, I probably shouldn't have," mused Feliks. "So, what do you think now that you know your lord is all kinds of fucked up in the head?"

Feliks was actually stunned when Ianthe leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. For such a hard woman, her lips were remarkably soft.

"I think that we're more alike than I thought. We're both looking for redemption," said Ianthe softly.

"You think so? Here I was thinking I just wanted the paycheck. So what about you? How'd you get that scar on your eyebrow?"

"I don't want to talk about it," said the mercenary stiffly, face turning into a frown.

"Really? After my long-winded pity party you won't tell me? Come on."

"You'll laugh," muttered the mercenary.

"No I won't."

"Everyone always laughs."

"I won't, I promise."

"Alright, fine," said Ianthe after a pause.

"My company had gotten picked to capture the Count of a city. It brings a huge bounty and it's a great honor. Basically a bonus that gives you awards and accolades that will make you extremely rich. We were getting ready to go and I was still wearing my harness because it's a pain to undo all the straps and then put it back on when you're getting on and off a dragon all the time, but if you don't it drags. I was being lazy and didn't. I wasn't paying attention and I stepped on it when I turned around to go and mount back up. I tripped on it and I fell over onto this ornate planning table with little markers that all the commanders were using. It opened up my head from my brow to my hairline and I bled all over all of their reports and silk rugs. I was bleeding so bad that they rushed me to the apothecary thinking that I had split my skull open, but it was just a flesh wound. They used magic to heal it, but by the time they realized that it wasn't serious another company was chosen to go. I missed out on becoming a baroness because I tripped on my harness," finished Ianthe bitterly.

"HA HA HAH HA!" burst out Feliks, clutching at his sides.

"You said that you wouldn't laugh!"

"HA HA HAH HAH! I can't breathe!" gasped Feliks.

"I can help with that," growled Ianthe, pulling Feliks' head into a lock that he continued to laugh in while choking.

A wave like the wind passed through them, but the grass didn't move and it chilled Feliks' blood. Even the hot blooded Messalonian paused, flinching like she had been hit. They heard a piercing scream from the BTR and Boris was at it immediately, soon holding a terribly frightened Luella, who was clutching at the old veteran and breathing hard, though she didn't know why she was so frightened. Everyone seemed on edge from it too, and like a subconscious instinct, they soon had every gun and cannon manned and pointing outwards from their camp.

"What the hell was that?" asked Feliks to no one in particular.

Xxx

"Thank you Felicia," said Pajari, scribbling down notes about a new plant he had discovered as he sipped his tea that Felicia had brought him. Black with one teaspoon of honey in it and she had made it perfectly. She really was turning out to be more useful every day. Something like an electric jolt passed through him, that sent a numbing chill throughout his body.

"Doctor..." murmured Felicia, apprehension in her voice, hands reflexively falling to where she would normally have kept a blade.

"I felt it, calm yourself," said Pajari putting down his tea that suddenly tasted bitter. "Most intriguing," continued the doctor, cupping the now blackened and drooping bulb of the flower that only a moment before had been full of life and standing firm. He went back immediately to taking notes, his fountain pen tracing his exquisite calligraphy.

Xxx

"I don't know what the Politburo is thinking, it's idiotic," said Alexandrov into his phone. "Sending reporters into Falmart from the West will completely compromise our security here. They're obviously bluffing about sending grounds forces into North Vietnam if we don-AH!" cursed Alexandrov ripping the phone away from his ear as it was filled with terrible shrieking feedback.

A feeling of dread settled over Alexandrov then, the same way it had on the morning that the Fascists had invaded all those years ago. He hadn't eaten anything that morning, thrown up even outside his stomach had been so unsettled. He pulled his pistol out of his desk and chambered a round, before securing the holster to his waist.

He walked to the widow to his office and looked out over the camp. It was like everything had just stopped. Soldiers were standing in the middle of the road, in pairs or small groups and looking around as if expecting to see something. Trucks had stopped, drivers stepping out and looking around as if they had hit something. None of them were alone.

"Is everything alright comrade General?" asked one of Alexandrov's guards, poking his head through the doorway, Kalashnikov in his hands.

"Yes, everything is fine," said Alexandrov and for some reason it felt like he had just lied to the man.

Xxx

"Sir Itami, is this a result of the earth shake?" asked Pina, looking even more terrified than she had a few moments ago.

"Oh yeah, nothing to worry about, happens all the time," said Itami with a warm smile, chuckling a little bit even to put the princess at ease even as the hair on the back of his neck stood up on end. His eyes met Shino's and they showed the same unease that he felt.

"Hey Shino, radio back to Alnus and see that everything's still okay back there too eh? Don't want to go back and find out everything's flat back there."

"Yes sir," said Shino, understanding immediately the real reason he wanted the call made.

From the slums of the Imperial capital they heard the baying and the cries of all the demihumans. As if they felt something worse than the earth shake coming.

An involuntary shiver passed through Itami even though the night air was warm and he just couldn't shake the feeling that something was...off. He would have to ask Rory or Lelei about it when he got back to Alnus. Until then he still had a job to do and he would see it through.

xxx

Charon had allowed them a few days of rest, but on the morning of the third he had them break camp and march deeper into the forest, passed where they had pulled he obelisks out of the ground. Their party was about 300 strong all told. Octavian's men, the Messalonians, and the few satyrs that still remained with them.

"Thank you again my lord," said Calista, easily keeping pace alongside Octavian's horse, her cloven hooves well suited for the terrain.

"Think nothing of it," said Octavian, only to receive a smile from the satyr in response.

Charon had wanted Calista for...gods know what, but Octavian had informed him that she had sold herself to him and that he could not part with her at present. He had told Charon no, refused him and lived. Calista had lived and not merely disappeared as some of the other satyrs in their party had when Charon required their presence.

The path had grown narrow and dense, with foliage and undergrowth constricting the path, although sending the dragons ahead first had widened the path and ripped loose much of the overhanging branches and crushed most of the smaller bushes. Leaving them to pick their way through the splintered wood and mulched foliage left in their wake.

The air smelled of fresh cut wood and sap, but it was a sour smell. One of rot and decay that filled Octavian's mouth with bitter tasting flem.

Despite all of this though, the mood among his men and that of the Messalonians was better today than it had been in a long time. They all felt it, the end drawing near to their labor with Charon and they moved just that extra bit quicker because of it.

"My lord, what is that ahead?" asked Calista, pointing to an opening in the foliage ahead of them and barren dirt beyond it.

"I do not know," answered Octavian truthfully.

They left the undergrowth and were confronted by a mountain of sorts. No, mountain was the wrong word. The rock formation extended upwards about four storeys into the air with a gentle slope rising up to an entrance carved into the south face of it. An ornate metal statue with a giant two handed great sword stood vigil at the entrance to the cave.

"What evil must a place contain for even grass refuse to grow here?" pondered Calista, picking up a handful of dry, brittle dirt from the ground.

"Centurion. Tell your slave to mind her tongue lest she lose it yes?" called Charon with his usual candor and cheer, but there was no longer any way to hide the malevolence of the man. If he really was one.

"My lord," murmured Calista taking a subconscious step closer to Octavian and his horse.

"Centurion, come up here," said Charon with a wave.

"Augustus, mind my slave."

"Yes Centurion."

Octavian kicked his horse into a trot and brought himself up alongside Charon.

"What do you require my lord?"

"Does this seem too easy to you Centurion?"

"My lord?"

"Don't you believe that there should be some kind of final challenge? A trial perhaps? This seems too...simple."

"My lord, I must confess that I do not even know what we are doing here or what goal we seek to accomplish. So I can not even fathom a guess as to what we have faced, or what trials should be awaiting us."

"Ah, right. I forgot that I left you in the dark about all of this, my mistake. Suffice it to say that I need to get into that cave. After that, I will no longer have need of you or your legionnaire's services. Don't worry about your little satyr pet either, I am not so vindictive as to trouble her after this is done."

"That is most gracious of you my lord, what do you require of us at present?"

"Maybe nothing, but get your men into line, just in case," murmured Charon, as if to himself.

Charon walked up the slope to the cave opening, massive scythe over his shoulder as he scanned the area around him warily. He made it halfway up the slope when the metal statue began to move. Tearing off moss and lichen that had grown on its form as if freed up its joints, the only greenery on the hill.

"Halt," said the behemoth in a deep, booming, but ponderous voice. The armored slit in its helm coming to life as it began to glow with blue light. The construct was easily fifteen feet tall and each of its legs was was wider than a man, maybe wider than two.

"You shall...go no further...apostle."

"Ah, one of you are still around hmm? Here I thought that all the relics from the golden age of the elves were gone. Tell me, does it grieve you to unintentionally serve the ones who struck down your masters by guarding this tomb?"

"Your words...will not sway me...from my duty...apostle," rumbled the metal statue, its voice like two boulders being ground together. Slow and purposeful, as if it had to think long and hard for the words that it needed to say. "My sole purpose...is to guard...this tomb...from the likes...of you."

"Hmm, then I suppose it's time for you to retire. PERMANENTLY!"

Charon exploded forwards with superhuman strength and speed, covering the space separating him from the construct in a single bound. He struck out with his scythe and in a move made all the more impressive by sheer size of the metal construct, it brought its great sword up and batted the apostle away with blinding speed. The sound of the two weapons colliding similar to a boulder impacting a steel gate.

Charon was thrown back by the force of the blow, tumbling before catching himself and his feet carving deep furrows into the dirt as he arrested his momentum.

He ran forward again, throwing his great scythe ahead of him as he did so. The weapon spinning end over end, only to be batted away with a resounding _clang_ by the giant metal construct and sent it spinning back towards Charon.

The apostle caught the weapon as it rebounded towards him and leaped high into the air, bringing his scythe down on top of the construct as he did so. It hit the metal giant's raised sword, but before Charon could leap away, the giant grasped Charon with its free hand. With a crunch of bone and explosion of blood the giant crushed the apostle and tossed the body and weapon back towards Octavian and his men. The apostle coming to a rest in a bloody heap of flesh and broken bones.

"Is...is he dead?" asked Calista, voice sounding hopeful.

"No. That is not enough to kill an apostle," said Octavian and sure enough with pops and crackles of bones resetting themselves and mending the hunk of flesh began to once again resemble Charon.

The apostle was panting as he finally reformed, a murderous look of frustration and rage on his face when he was whole once more.

"You could help you know," spat out the Apostle.

"My lord, what could we even do to something like that?"

"Try to kill it you imbecile!" raged Charon, flourishing his scythe menacingly.

"At once my Lord," said Octavian, bringing his hand to his breast is a salute and knowing better than to offer a retort to any insult. "Century, form up! Bows at the ready! LOOSE!"

99 arrows flew from the ranks of the mounted Legionnaires at the metal behemoth atop the hill and all shattered when they impacted the construct. The giant merely standing passive even as another wave of arrows were let to fly free and break against its armored frame.

"This...is annoying," rumbled the giant as the hail of arrows pattered off of it like rain. Yet, it made no move to leave its position on top of the hill. The arrows only serving to remove the lichens and moss from the giant, revealing the smooth black metal beneath. The giant simply Preferring to stay where it was rather than retaliate."

"Centurion, have your men remount their horses and attack!" demanded the apostle, his voice thick with rage.

"My lord, that thing is made of metal. Metal I would wager is harder than the steel of our swords and spears. We would need siege equipment or hammers at the very least to even make an attempt at harming it. That is assuming of course it would stand still and let us break it apart."

"I...would not," rumbled the metal giant.

"Oh, well there you have it my lord, he would not stand still and also seems to have very good hearing."

"I do," rumbled the giant.

"So are you refusing an order then Centurion?" asked Charon smiling maliciously.

"I will not order my men to charge to their deaths my lord. If you find this distasteful then you may strike me down and order my replacement to conduct a charge. I will just die a few moments earlier than my men."

Octavian had fully expected Charon to strike him down, so was both pleasantly surprised and shocked when he smiled at him instead.

"You are right Centurion, you and your men are quite useless to me now. Consider yourself free of my service, and protection. Captain!" called Charon to the waiting Messalonians who up until now had only been observers in the battle between Charon and the metal behemoth.

"Yes milord?"

"Have your knights assault the creature."

"Yes milord," answered the Messalonian, bringing his fist to his breast in a salute before barking orders at his men.

A few sharp commands and the quartet of dragons that belonged to the Messalonians began to snarl and hiss at the metal giant on top of the hill.

"How...troublesome," rumbled the giant as two of the dragons and their riders took flight while the other two walked up the hill, growling at the metal giant. Their ivory white claws digging into the dead soil as they advanced. One was gold, the other red in color. Hissing as one circled to the giant's left and another to its right. A clatter of steel as their battle armor rattled in response to their movements.

"Man..is always so eager...to die," rumbled the giant a moment before he was engulfed in red and orange flames.

It is a hot fire, dragon fire that it. Hot enough to melt steel and turn a home to ashes in mere moments. To turn men and beasts into charred meat with only the shortest of applications.

One of the dragons, the red one, ceased its jet of flame when the construct was fully ablaze and let out a triumphant roar, raising its head in victory.

The ground shook in rapid succession as the metal giant exploded into motion, trailing flames from its body like a torch swung through the air. The dragon barely had time to lower its head as the giant attacked it with its great sword, holding it in both hands.

The massive blade crushed through the armored skull of the dragon, splitting it down the neck and killing the knight on its back before tearing through the chest of the beast and striking the ground in one clean swing.

With a terrifying roar, the gold dragon launched itself onto the creature's back like a wolf attacking a deer and tried to sink its teeth into the giant's metal hide.

"You...WILL NOT!" roared the giant in a voice that boomed like thunder, shaking Octavian's diaphragm with the force of it. At first he thought it was just angry at the dragon on its back, but then he realized that Charon was racing up the side of the hill towards the opening in the cliff face.

The metal giant reached back with one hand and grasped the gold dragon around the throat, squeezing with enough force to crush the metal armor surrounding the dragon's throat inwards. A terrible squealing whine of pain the like of which Octavian didn't think a dragon could make erupted from the dragon's throat a moment before it was ripped from the giant's back and tossed to the ground.

The knight on the dragon was crushed underneath his own mount's weight it the beast itself lay still, its neck deformed and lax from the crushing force the giant had exerted.

The giant lunged for Charon, but with a crash of metal on metal, one of the dragons that had taken flight stuck the giant like a hunting hawk. The giant crashed hard into the ground, shaking it as it was brought down beneath the dragon's weight and tearing a great rut in the earth with its body. The dragon immediately took flight again at the command from its master to avoid any retaliation from the giant.

Charon leaped high in the air, over the giant even as it reached upwards in what appeared to be desperation to grab the apostle. Its reach was too short and Charon proceeded onwards, running faster than even a horse could gallop. The giant was lit on fire anew as the fourth dragon strafed it with its fire breath, before climbing high to circle again.

The fire seemed to do little more than annoy the giant though as it threw its greatsword at the Apostle. The giant weapon whistling through the air like a spear and Charon dodged at the last second as instead of finding the apostle's flesh, it imbedded itself in the rock face. The apostle himself disappearing inside of the catacombs.

The giant simply stood where it was for a few moments, heedless of the roaring flames that engulfed its body and the steady blue glow from its visor fixed intently on the opening to the catacombs. It finally moved forwards with thundering, slow steps and retrieved its greatsword from the stone wall, ignoring the dragons circling overhead as if they were little more than ants crawling around its feet.

Instead, the giant fixed its attention firmly on the opening to the cave, sword held at the ready. Then it happened. It was a pulse, similar to a heartbeat that swept through them. It wasn't physical in the traditional sense of the word, but it sure as hell felt physical. It was as if it was a blade that plunged your soul into icy dread and despair. Stealing the breath from your lungs and freezing the blood in your veins. A feeling that it would be better to plunge your blade into your heart rather than continue on and see what more was to come.

Octavian had to grip his horse's reigns tightly as it reared up high and whinnied in terror, threatening to throw him loose. He dug his legs in and held on as it moved back and forth, shaking its head that contained wild eyes. All of his legionnaire's horses and those of the Messalonians were doing the same. Even the indomitable dragons had fallen silent, save for low hisses towards the opening where Charon had disappeared into.

He emerged a few moments later, moments that felt like they may as well as each have been an eternity. He looked much the same as before he entered the cave. Same tattered clothing, same bloody frame, and same cocky grin. Yet, there was something different about him at the same time. Something that Octavian didn't know if he could put into words.

The giant moved with explosive force, bringing its great sword above its head and striking down in a heartbeat, intent on crushing the apostle into paste. Charon watched the blade descend, before raising his own hand, his bare hand yet sheathed in a green glow, and catching the blade in it.

The force of the descending blade and air created by its passing blew dirt away from both the giant and Charon in a deafening crash.

"So cute the toys the elves made to play with, yet so dumb that they don't ever know when to quit," mused Charon. "You can leave my sight now," continued the apostle, raising his other palm towards the giant.

It was as if the giant metal warrior was no more than a toy that had been tossed as if hurtled through the air like an angry god had grabbed hold of it. It tumbled end over end into the forest, crushing trees and shrub that had the misfortune to be in its path like they were nothing more than kindling.

"Ah, Centurion, I see that your cowardice has indeed seen to your continued longevity. I thank you and your men for acting as my beasts of burden, but now I have no further use for you. I do hope you make it out of here alive. Oh what am I saying? I really don't," chuckled the apostle in dark mirth, patting Octavian's horse on the flank as he walked by. Calista the satyr staying well clear of Charon as he passed them by.

"Centrion, sir," said one of Octavian's legionnaires.

"What is it?" asked Octavian, his throat feeling dry and his chest tight.

"The birds sir. They're just sitting there."

"What? Birds?" asked Octavian, as he looked back behind him.

The trees were thick and black with innumerable feathers from beady eyed and sharp taloned avians. They were silent other than for the occasional flap of wings as another arrived or one steadied itself on its new perch.

Octavian's stomach fell at the sight. It was unnatural, an ill omen.

"My Lord," began Calista, sounding nervous.

"Form into line on the double," commanded Octavian to his legionnaires. "We're leaving this wretched place. Cut down anyone or anything that gets in our way."

"Do not worry, you're coming with us," said Octavian, looking down at Calista. She gave a short cry of surprise as Octavian pulled her up and into his saddle behind him. The satyr immediately hooking her arms around his waist and holding on tightly.

"I've never ridden on a horse before," informed the satyr.

"Will I fall off?"

"Not so long as you hold on tightly."

"Yes my lord," said Calista holding herself tightly against Octavian and despite everything that was going on, she felt safe so close to the Centurion.

xxx

"Huh, I wonder where everyone is," said Luella looking around. The village was deserted so far as they could tell, or at least no one was coming out to greet them. Or working in the fields around the village, and there was no smoke coming

"Wait inside just in case darling," said Boris surprising the petite elf by picking her up and stuffing her through the hatch into the BTR.

"Boris you can't just pick a lady up like that and I can take care of myself!" said Luella indignantly. A door banged from further in the village and the indignant elf quickly disappeared within the armored confines of the BTR. Head reappearing timidly a few moments later, this time covered in the helmet that she so hated to wear and looking more than a little frightened.

"Stay with the iron chariot teacher, you'll be safe in there," said Ianthe.

"O-okay," said Luella, peeking out from within the armored vehicle. Ever since the other day when that...thing had happened, the elf had been on edge and jumpy. Startling at the smallest of things though she professed that she herself didn't even know why other than that she just felt a sense of unease.

"Senior Sergeant I think that we should go for a walk," said Feliks.

"Right you are Lieutenant," said Boris and with a few quick commands they were moving through the village, the BRDM and PT76 inching along with them to provide them both cover and support. The clacking of claws on stone followed the grinding of treads and grumble of diesel engine as Ianthe's dragon Maximus followed close behind. The other BTRs and jeeps staying outside of the village just in case, but weapons manned.

"I hate doing this shit," muttered Grekhov, watching the windows of the small wooden shacks they passed for anything that could even remotely threaten them.

"Just be thankful that no one's shooting at you," said Feliks, keeping his rifle at a low ready as he moved.

"Yes comrade lieutenant," answered the rifleman, still sounding less than pleased about clearing the village.

"Elder's house, across the square," said Boris gesturing.

"I see it," said Feliks looking at a shack that was larger than the others and next to the village well.

They advanced across the square, armored vehicles providing cover until they reached the elder's house. Feliks rapped his knuckles on the door and waited.

Xxx

"So what had them so spooked anyways?" asked Boris, biting into an apple.

"Same thing that has us on edge," said Feliks. They were sitting on a BTR as Luella played with several children from the village that had emerged after Feliks had spoken with the elder. The rest of the village milling around looking at the Soviets or else trying to sell them things. Vitsin handing out bandages and treating small injuries or handing out creams for infections and looking at bizarre looking rashes and boils.

"Hear anything from Zhukov?"

"Just about some stuff from back home. Apparently the USA doesn't exist anymore, it's now the United States of North America. They went and merged with Canada into one super country. Now they're an entire continent."

"That's some pretty big news," said the old veteran.

"You're telling me," said Feliks. Other than that not too much is going on. America is threatening to send ground forces into North Vietnam, but if they do China will get involved, though India's been looking for an excuse to go to war with them."

"So what route are we taking anyways?"

"I was thinking of going over the mountain. There's a road that runs through it and it'll cut like six hours off of our trip. Hey Luella, come here," called Feliks, getting the elf's attention from her game with the children.

"Yes?" asked the petite elf, smiling and winded from running with the children.

"We were thinking of taking the mountain pass, but I wanted to hear what you thought about it."

The smile disappeared from the elf's face and she shook her head.

"No, we should go around," said Luella, voice deadly serious.

"How come? It'll cut at least a days travel off if we go through."

"Do you see that arch with the runes carved into it above the road leading into the mountains?"

"Yeah, I see it."

"That's meant to ward off evil and act as a barrier. Most that you find are decorative, but that one is a real one. It's old, even compared to me and the village elders will pay a mage to come down from the college and check the enchantments from it every few years and instruct their carpenters on what runes to carve into the wood if they need to replace the beam. Normally these things are redundant. With the gods looking over the world there isn't really a need for them, but with what happened yesterday...I would say that we should go around. I know it'll be longer and I can't give a real reason why, but I have a bad feeling about taking that road."

"Alright, I trust your judgment, we'll go around the mountain," said Feliks, marking the long route on his map.

"Sorry that it's longer," apologized the elf.

"It's fine, we've got lots of diesel and besides, it's best to be on the side of caution."

xxx

"I am afraid that you have caught me by surprise with this request. Would you like anything before we begin?" offered Alexandrov politely.

He had been preparing to go and speak with one of his division commanders when the defacto leader of the wood elves had come to him and personally requested to speak with him. He had agreed immediately, both out of respect and because he relied heavily on the elves for interpretation and to act as guides for his forces. Their knowledge of the local area and customs had been a great boon for him and he would not pretend otherwise.

They were outside on the patio where Alexandrov had received Sugawara when he had come to negotiate after the incident at Alnus.

The tall elf Tiranniel shook her head in response.

"No, this will be very brief. It is a simple request."

"Very well, what if your request?"

"I want you to refuse to allow Luella to accompany your men on any more of their missions. Tell her that she must return to the village and is no longer allowed within your camp."

"Oh? I think I understand Miss Tiranniel, and I find it regrettable the danger she has been subjected to. It's inexcusable even, but I was given the understanding that you let each of your people decide their own path?"

Alexandrov stopped and frowned in confusion when the tall elf shook her head, ethereal golden eyes never leaving his.

"You misunderstand General, it is not her safety that I am concerned for, it is her use of magic. She is becoming...too accustomed to using it."

"I was given to understand that your people were willing to use it to save a life Miss Tiranniel? Several of my men owe her their lives-"

"This is not a cultural misunderstanding," cut in Tiranniel sharply.

"Then I am afraid that I truly do not understand the nature of your request."

"What would you say is the most striking feature of Luella General?"

"Pardon me?"

"Would it be her ears? Foreign as they are to you? Her serene kindness? Perhaps her beauty and golden shroud of hair? Her lovely singing voice should she feel comfortable enough to grace you with it? Or would it perhaps be her purple eyes? As exotic as they are unique?"

"I am not sure I fully understand the direction that this conversation is going."

"Her eyes are an indication of something among my people General. Something rare beyond measure, a prophecy in of themselves. She is one that we say has been touched by magic."

"So her powers are especially potent then?"

"More than you realize General. She is young by the standards of my race, a mere child though fully grown. Yet, her powers even as they are outstrip even the eldest of this world and not just those of the elves. She is the strongest magic user I have seen in the past 10 000 years and she has not even begun to realize her powers."

"This seems a little...too far fetched to just accept out of hand."

Alexendrov was unnerved when instead of answering the tall elf just stared at him in silence for a few moments.

"General," began the elf slowly, as if choosing her words carefully. "Are you aware of the right of passage that all of our kin take upon reaching adulthood?"

"Yes actually, it is a test of both their concentration, power, and control over their magical abilities. You have them grow something entirely with magic, whether it be a flower, a bush, or even an oak tree."

"Correct. Are you aware the old name of this mountain? One that you will never find on any map, yet the village elders in the area will still remember? A mere twenty years ago the humans called it Bone Mountain. Do you want to know why? It was because plants refused grow on Mt. Rubicon and with its unique white rock the whole mountain looked like a broken bone torn free from the flesh of the earth. When Luella told me that she wanted her tree to be on Bone Mountain so that it would no longer be bereft of the beauty of nature and for the mountain to no longer be alone I saw no harm in the request. Simply childhood naivete and idealism motivating an act of goodwill. I took her, just the two of us to the base of the mountain and like any other test I told her the same thing I told all the others. Concentrate. Steady your emotions until you find serenity within. Focus your entire being on the task. Reach deep within yourself and pull out all the power you can muster and let it flow out of you. Yet even with those words General, _she held back."_

"She knows that she is not supposed to use magic unless it is life threatening General, she knows it very well and has kept for word for these past two decades with only the most minor of deviations. Yet, she is young General and she is an elf. Our emotions are an inferno whereas yours are an ember and she is _kind._ She is _caring._ And she _loves_ as deeply as any I have ever seen. She abhors killing, abhors violence and pain. To the point where she would let herself be _killed_ before defending herself. And yet, what about those she cares for? Those she loved with all her heart were in danger or going to die General? Do you think she would keep her word and refrain from using magic? Watch them die knowing that she could save them but chose not to? I know her heart General and she would not. She would act and damn the consequences. She knows more than how to make plants g\row or heal wounds; much more.I begged for her life once General, on my knees I begged. They will not listen again."

"This.." began Alexandrov, not knowing how to proceed. "Is this somehow linked to the...event that happened the other day?" posed the general, not knowing how to put what had happened any better than that.

Without so much as another word Tiranniel turned and left, walking down the asphalt path that would lead her to the main gate of Camp Zhukov and back to her village. General Alexandrov watched her walk until she was nothing but an indistinguishable speck, before turning on the patio and looking up towards the mountains peak. Covered in green forest that swayed gently in the breeze.

AN: Well that was a quick chapter. I wrote that all in just a few days so I hope that it's not rougher than the last chapter and also not too boring. I had the story in my head of how Feliks got his back burned and I wanted him to tell the story about it. As always, leave a review whether good or bad and I'll try to get back to you about it, but I apologize if I miss you. Sometimes I forget about a few of you.


	14. Chapter 14

"Not even a whisper is to be heard in the garden,  
Everything has calmed down until dawn.  
If you only knew how dear they are to me,  
The evenings near Moscow!"

"The river is moving and (sometimes) not,  
All made of the moons silver.  
A song sounds and is not to be heard  
In those quiet evenings."

"Why do you, darling, look at me from the side,  
Bending your head so low?  
It is not easy to tell  
All the things that are in my heart."

"And dawn is getting more and more visible.  
So, please, be so kind:  
You, also, don't forget  
These summer evenings near Moscow."

It was Luella who was singing as Felik's convoy trundled down the dirt path that passed for a road. It was hot so everyone who could was sitting on top of the vehicles, or else rode in the jeeps with the tops down. For those who couldn't leave their vehicles, they had their turret hatches open and as many slits and panels open as could be opened.

Their final destination was somewhere within the Kingdom of Elbe, or until they encountered stiff enough resistance that they had to turn back. They carried extra diesel in the way of trailers towed behind the jeeps so should something unforeseen happen they wouldn't be stranded.

The trees on either side of the road provided shade with their branches and leaves, letting the sunlight filter through in golden streams to light the way for them.

It was a rare treat for Luella to sing for them, shy as she was to showcase her talent when it wasn't related to healing. So far as Feliks knew, Boris was the only one to hear her sing outside of healing. Everyone had been feeling on edge and gloomy ever since that event had happened a few days ago. Nobody knew what it was, but it was as if it had cast a miasma of dread and malaise upon everyone in the platoon.

Luella had picked up on the somber mood quickly as she did with most things and had taken it upon herself to try and lighten it. She was singing her own rendition of Moscow Nights and Feliks had heard it many times before, yet to hear the young elf sing it was like hearing it again for the first time. Her voice, for lack of a better word, was angelic and it held every man's rapt attention.

As the last clear note of her voice died away, the petite elf was awarded a raucous round of applause from the Soviets present, causing the elf to blush and give a shy smile in return.

"That was wonderful!"

"You should sing with the Red Army Choir!"

"That was beautiful!"

"Thank you all," mumbled out Luella, the demure elf blushing a deeper pink at the praise.

"Sing Katyusha next!"

"She already sang Katyusha idiot."

"Hey, Oleg, don't call Ivan an Idiot. It's not a nice thing to do and you wouldn't like it if I or somebody else called you an idiot," chastised the elf.

"Sorry Ivan," said the tank driver abashed after a short silence.

"It's okay Oleg."

"Now after I sing Katyusha I'll let you pick the next song Oleg."

"Sounds good to me," said the tank driver smiling in glee. All conversation died away as Luella took a sip from her canteen and then steadying herself began to sing again.

Feliks lost himself within the rhythm and cadence of her voice, letting the flow of it take him where it would. Even as entranced as he was in the elf's singing, he still noticed the flight of Soviet aircraft through the leaves and high in the sky. Where they were going he didn't care and immediately let himself fall back under the spell of Luella's voice.

Xxx

Charon felt energized in a way that he hadn't in a very long time. He felt invigorated, like his body would burst apart from the power that once more flowed through him. Power that had been denied and sealed away for far, FAR too long; and yet he couldn't merely bask in what he had already accomplished. There was still much work to be done to merely feel self satisfied at his regained powers. The Empire as it was, was not a threat to him. The mages of Rondel would be a problem, but they would debate and they would contemplate, and then they would ponder as to what the best course of action to take would be. By the time those fools had finally decided, it would be far too late to stop the plans set into motion. Still, help would be appreciated.

Charon took his scythe and ran his hand along the edge of the blade, cutting a fearsome looking gash in his hand before extending it over the ground. A few drops of his blood managed to fall free before the wound closed and they hit the dirt with a soft _plop._

Charon chanted words in a language that was not meant for mortal tongues to make or for mortal ears to hear. Leaves shriveled brown and black, the bark of trees cracked and the wood split, letting sap flow like blood from a wound. The forest around Charon groaned as if in pain as the life around Charon slowly died. Then, just as suddenly as Charon had begun chanting, he stopped.

The blood was writhing and wrigging, bubbling like froth from a cauldron as it grew and began to take form. Strings of the bubbling and writhing blood twisting their way out from the center stretched out, crawling along the ground. The fleshy blob soon began to take shape, forming into the rough approximation of human form. It was as if it was made of puddy, the blobs growing and expanding to the rough shapes of limbs and appendages before the finer details began to reveal themselves. Fingers, toes, empty sockets where eyes would be and a mouth, black and empty open in a wordless scream. The figure writhed in apparent agony at the transformation, before hair began to grow, skin grew over top of muscle, and then with a gasp of air filling lungs it was done.

A woman laid before Charon, breathing deeply as she laid on the loamy soil, her chest rising and falling with each breath, bringing her new body to life. Her hair was black as pitch and her skin was pale like she had never seen the sun before, which in a way she, if she could be called a she, hadn't. When she gained enough strength to push herself up, she looked up at Charon with eyes that if they were any paler a shade of gray, they would merely fade into the white of her eyes. Her pupils, barely darker than the surrounding color of her eyes. A light gray when they should have been black.

"Are...you," began the woman, testing her voice for the first time as Charon bent over and grabbed her arm. Pulling with savage strength, the Apostle hurled the woman at an oak tree, watching as the woman crashed through it and tumbled along the ground, before coming to a stop against another tree. Body quivering at the trauma, but still very much alive as she pushed herself up onto her knees.

Charon walked over and hauled the woman up to her feet, grabbing hold of her jaw and turning her head first one way, then the other as if inspecting livestock.

"Well at least I made you strong enough, saves me the trouble of having to make another," mused Charon. "Unharmed save for a few scrapes and scratches. No deformities, everything where it should be, working as it should be, and to top it off there's even entertainment for tonight it would seem," finished the apostle, groping at the woman's sex.

"Your name will be Desdemona and I am your master. You will speak when spoken to and not before. You will carry out my every desire and act on my every whim. Should you fail me or prove to be a burden I will kill you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand master Charon," said the woman and Charon smiled with delight. The woman already knew his name so the imprint he had imbued had worked as he had hoped.

"Oh, and Desdemona?"

"Yes my lord?"

A loud smack echoed through the forest as Charon backhanded the woman to the ground.

"You will address me on bended knee."

"Yes, my lord," groaned out Desdemona, forcing herself to a kneeling position before answering.

Charon smiled, pleased at how quickly his new servant learned. A glimmer caught his eye in the sky and looking up, he saw nearly a dozen blade like objects cutting their way through the sky. With his enhanced vision Charon could count each of the rivets on the metal objects, and take in, in fine detail the protruding tubes he had been told were called guns on the undersides. They were MIGs, as he had been told and belonged to the Mottled Men, or Soviets as they preferred to be called.

Where they were going? Charon did not know and quite frankly did not care. They were heading deeper into Elbe, maybe to strike at the king, but he was dead, killed at Alnus if the rumors were to be believed. What they were doing was irrelevant, what they were however, was an opportunity to test his newly regained powers.

"Desdemona."

"Yes my lord?"

"Pull up a seat. You've got a show to watch," said Charon, lowering his arms out to the side and appearing to devote himself to deep concentration. Pentagram circles burned their way into the dirt around him, glowing a hellish red and encasing Charon in a translucent cone of red light. Slowly, Charon raised his hands towards the sky and the world responded.

Xxx

"Flight 1-1 this is Spectacle, alter heading to course 0-7-3 and proceed on heading for fifteen minutes."

"Roger Spectacle, altering course to 0-7-3 for fifteen minutes," answered Captain Nikolai Vasiliev, banking his MIG and his flight following, as well as the Sukhois they were escorting.

They were playing a game of whack a dragon today and had a positive fix on its location. The missiles they had hit it with last time had burned it a little, maybe, but mostly just pissed it off. The decision had come down that such an animal could not be allowed to be live lest in turn its attention to advancing Soviet forces. Personally Nikolai thought it was because that their commanding officer wanted to be able to brag that his forces had killed a dragon the size of the damned Kremlin.

Nikolai's four MIG 21s were escorting six of the Union's new SU17 attack craft armed with Kh-25 ASM missiles. Nikolai wasn't sure how tough the dragon was exactly was, but he doubted that it would survive being hit with 48 missiles meant to take out tanks.

They had another plane with them on their mission, one of the reconnaissance MIG 25s meant to take pictures and confirm their kill. All in all Nikolai wasn't expecting any trouble on this flight. Nothing could intercept them, they had more than enough fuel, having been transferred to a forward airbase well within striking distance of both the Dragon and the Kingdom of Elbe. Then again, Nikolai had never trusted the weather man.

"Spectacle, this is Flight 1-1 Lead, over."

"Flight 1-1 Lead, this is Spectacle, go ahead over."

"Spectacle, I have rapidly forming inclement weather on our flight path. Looks like heavy thunderstorm and rain showers, requesting new flight heading."

"Uh, roger Flight 1-1 Lead, wait one."

The radio cut out and Nikolai watched in a mixture of fascination and mounting annoyance as clouds and thunderheads began to form off to his right side, both above and below them. Blindingly fast even. He watched blue sky turn to heavy and dark clouds in a matter of seconds. It was enough to put a twinge of unease into Nikolai's gut.

"Flight 1-1 Lead, this is Spectacle, alter course to 0-7-0 for ten minutes and then we'll correct after, over."

"Roger Spectale, altering course to 0-7-0."

Nikolai banked his MIG around and his flight followed suit, yet even as they turned onto their new heading, clouds began to form in front of them yet again. Nikolai stared at it in a mixture of disbelief of stupefaction as thunderheads began to form in front of them again. Dark and angry looking thunderheads.

"Spectacle, this is Flight 1-1 Lead, inclement weather is forming on our flight path again."

"Um, what? Flight 1-1 Lead, there's nothing but blue sky-wait one," said the controller on the other end sounding exasperated.

"What is going on?" asked one of the SU pilots in frustration.

"Cut the chatter Heavy 3, keep the channel open, over."

"Roger 1-1 Lead, out."

"Flight 1-1 Lead, we're just picking up the developing systems on our screens here. I'm seeing clear blue skies if you alter course to 0-6-0. It should keep you clear of any adverse weather conditions. Does it look clear on your end, over?"

"Spectacle, this is Flight 1-1 Lead, roger; I see nothing but clear blue skies that way, over."

"Roger 1-1 Lead, alter heading now and we'll guide you around the storm systems."

"Copy that Spectacle, altering heading now, over," said Nikolai and once again banked his MIG, the rest of his flight following suit quickly. The flew for about 3 minutes without any more problems, but then clouds began to form as if from nothing in front of them, rapidly turning dark and heavy with rain. Expanding as quickly as the other ones, looking more like expanding dust and smoke from an explosion rather than clouds.

"Spectale, this is Flight 1-1 Lead, you're not going to like this, but we have inclement weather forming on our flight path again, over."

"1-1 Lead, you said the path was clear, over," answered back the controller again, in a tone that spoke of frustration with someone who could not understand exceedingly clear instruction when given them.

"Spectacle, this is 1-1 Lead, flight path was clear on last transmission. Weather is forming supernaturally fast, it's blue skies one minute and thunderstorms the next, over,"

"Uh, roger 1-1. There's weather formations forming behind you, but I can give you a new heading if you like, see if you can fly clear of this soup, or you can try to shoot through the gap between the two systems, over."

"Roger Spectacle, we're burning too much fuel flying back and forth like this, we'll navigate in between the two systems and correct course once we're clear of it, over."

"Roger 1-1 lea- _crrr...ra-crrr..._ get _-crrr."_

Whatever else the controller was going to say was lost as the radio communication was lost to a screeching garble of static as the storms finally began to interfere with their radios.

"All callsigns, this is Flight 1-1 Lead. We're going to cut inbetween these storm cells and reestablish communications once we get through to the other side. Follow me through, out," said Nikolai and gave his wings a short waggle, and then cut a course directly between the two gathering storms.

It was...almost frightening how quickly they had formed. Seeing what had only a few minutes before been blue skies as far as the eye could see turn into mountains of storm clouds. It wasn't natural, but at the end of the day they were just clouds.

Like shining silver darts, the Soviet aircraft cut through the canyon between the two mountains of dark storm clouds. The clouds rolled and moved like they were froth boiling over from a pot, or like there was something fighting to get free of them.

It darkened as the clouds kept surging upwards, heavy gray and black clouds, swollen with rain. They kept expanding upwards and towards each other until they were were no longer flying through a valley, but a tunnel. It wasn't long until rain started to patter off of Nikolai's cockpit glass, but he could see clear skies in the distance, though it was still miles away, seemingly getting no closer as if the clouds were surging ahead to try and make their path longer. It was ridiculous, but at the same time the thought refused to leave Nikolai's mind.

"1-1 Lead, this is Heavy 5, uh, cloud pillar approaching your right side, over."

"Heavy 5 say agi-whoa!" exclaimed Nikolai, pulling back hard on the stick, sending his MIG shooting up as a column of black cloud shot underneath his craft, like it was a spear that had been thrust at him, rushing beneath his aircraft at incredible speed.

Now THAT, was not normal.

Looking to his left and right as he leveled out he saw through the rain what almost appeared to be blisters forming on the walls of the clouds. Then, Nikolai watched as they seemed to rupture and shoot out.

"All call signs, evasive maneuvers!" yelled Nikolai into the radio, not knowing exactly what was going on, but having a gut feeling that whatever it was, they needed to avoid it.

Not understanding, but reacting to ingrained discipline and training, all Soviet aircraft broke their tight formation and began maneuvering, albeit if half-heartedly. Why would they pull hard maneuvers carrying drop tanks and heavy ordinance to avoid clouds? It made no sense.

One SU17 pulled up into a gentle climb to avoid a pillar of black cloud that had shot out from his left, but in doing so flew into one that had come from the right. It impacted the right side of the Sukhoi...and crumpled the wing inwards, a moment before smashing the fuselage and igniting the ordinance and fuel onboard. Heavy 2 became a fireball.

"HEAVY TWO IS DOWN! HE'S DOWN!"

"What? Who got him?"

"Holy shit! It crushed his jet!"

"The Clouds! The clouds did it!"

"All call signs, drop tanks and evade!" shouted Nikolai above the panicked chatter, nosing down and rolling to avoid another pillar of black cloud rushed past him.

Ten drop tanks fell away as one and with a scream of air and roar of turbines, the Soviet pilots pushed their machines to full military power.

"Watch both sides! Both sides!"

"The fuck is going on?!"

"Heavy 3, look out!"

"Stay on me! Stay on 1-1 Lead! We're punching through!" called out Nikolai, diving under one pillar, only to have to pull back sharply on the stick to avoid another, before having to roll to the left and dive down to avoid yet another. The G-forces pulling and pushing at him like he was a puppet on strings. The rest of his flight rolling, climbing and diving much the same to stay alive. Lightning was flashing now, lighting up the black around them and give only the briefest of warnings as to impending doom.

"From the front! They're coming from the front!"

Nikolai did a rapid snap roll to the right to avoid one that that had come farther ahead at an angle, intent on smashing him to bits. It missed him, but Dagger 3, one of his 21s climbed into it as he avoided one from below. He disappeared into pieces of metal and a blooming ball of fire.

"DAGGER 3 IS DOWN! HE'S DOWN!"

"Heavy 5, look out!"

A pillar of cloud shot out with blinding speed towards one of the SU17s and whether it was reflex, or just a panic response, the pilot fired one of his Kh-25 missiles and it shot ahead of him like a fiery comet. It impacted the pillar of cloud and exploded much the same as if it had hit an armored target. The blast ripped apart the front of the pillar, and it seemed to steal the life from the rest of it, dispersing the protrusion of cloud like it was no more than air.

"If you shoot them, they break apart!"

With those words green tracer fire erupted from the noses of the Soviet aircraft, cutting deadly streams through the air and breaking the from of the clouds shooting out towards them. Muzzle flash lighting up Nikolai's cockpit as he pressed down the firing stud, ripping apart pillars that shot towards him. The heavy rumble of his GsH cannon a welcome sound. Still, they couldn't shoot to the sides.

"1-1, ahead of us," called out a pilot, a mounting sense of dread in his voice.

A solid wall had formed ahead of them of heavy black cloud and with growing speed, it accelerated towards them, even as it stretched from the treetops all the way to the top of the tunnel they found themselves in. As a small consolation to their impending death, the smaller pillars had stopped firing out towards them from the walls.

"Heavy Flight form up! If you don't want to die, form up!" commanded Nikolai, and thanking iron discipline, the 5 remaining Su17s resumed flying in formation.

"I want you to hit that with everything you got! Fire all of your Kh-25s and we'll fly through the hole you make, roger!?"

"Firing," was all the response that Nikolai received and like a Napoleonic musket line, the Su17s fired volley after volley of missiles towards the approaching, rolling and boiling mass of black death. Cherry and orange flames from the missiles marked their course as they were finally allowed to do what they had been built to do.

They impacted the wall with detonations of flame, sending ripples across its surface like rocks dropped into the surface of a white-capped lake. The Soviet planes huddled together like a clenched fist, flying through the this wisps of cloud that remained after the missile detonations, barely avoiding destruction as the hole rapidly closed, like gel filling a gap.

"We made it!" exclaimed a Jubilant pilot as they passed through into lighter colored clouds, though still enclosed by them.

"Dagger 4 and Heavy 1 are down," said Nikolai, disturbed at the sight. Dagger 4 had been on his left side as they had passed through the opening, obscured for only the briefest of moments by thin gray and whispy clouds. Now, his craft looked like it had flown through a patch of razorblades. It was ripped and torn as if someone had raked the outside with blades. The cockpit was empty, the canopy looking like someone had cracked it open and extracted the man from within. He saw blood for the briefest of moments on what remained before the craft listlessly rolled over and fell from the sky.

"We need to punch it," came the same pilot's voice from before, one of the Sukhoi pilots and his voice was filled with urgency. Looking into his mirror, Nikolai saw the clouds behind them rapidly turning black, spreading like an infection along the walls of the 'tunnel' that they were traveling in.

"Go afterburn," said Nikolai, pushing his MIG as hard as it could go. Seven miniature suns ignited as the Soviets pushed their planes into aterburner, and they raced through the hellish tunnel that they now found themselves in. Actually managing to outrun whatever the hell it was that they found themselves fleeing from as they all began to push Mach 2.

"1-1 Lead, this is Heavy 1, any contact with command, over?"

"Negative Heavy 1, nothing's cutting through this soup. We have to get out of here if we want any help."

"The hell? Is it turning _down_?" asked a pilot in disbelief as their 'path' looked like it cut downwards.

"All callsigns reduce speed and follow it. No one is to cut through the clouds," said Nikolai and got a chorus of affirmatives in response.

They nosed down with the turn in the tunnel and almost immediately had to bank to follow it as it began twisting and turning.

The light was dim and the tunnel was framed by the metal support of his canopy as Nikolai rolled, banked, and generally did his best to follow this new roller coaster that they had found themselves on. Perversely, despite the danger and the losses that they had suffered, Nikolai was enjoying himself. _This_ is what he had been missing. The pulse pounding exhilaration of high speed maneuvering, life or death decisions made in a split second, and only his ability and reflexes to keep him alive. _This_ is what it was to be a fighter pilot. Suddenly there was a new wall of dark gray cloud ahead of them and several nearly perfect circular openings.

"What the fuck?"

"Which one?"

"SHIT!"

Lacking time to coordinate, the flight of Soviets split up, most picking a separate path each as they raced on to whatever was awaiting them. Nikolai it seemed, picked the wrong one.

His tunnel bucked and rolled like a stormy sea, twisting and winding, it's walls the same black clouds that had destroyed half of his flight.

"Well come on then," said Nikolai and felt everything else fade away.

Left, right, roll, up, left, down, spiral down, spiral up, roll, right, Nikolai moved with near superhuman reaction speed, his mind utterly devoid of anything else other than flying. He pushed himself and his MIG to the limits of their ability, and at times the tunnel was narrow enough that his wingtips nearly touched both sides. A tenth of a second too slow on any maneuver, any decision and he would be dead. Just like a dogfight.

Then as if it had never happened, Nikolai emerged from the tunnel into a wide open cauldron of sorts. It was bright and the clouds were all around, but miles away in a near perfect circle, save for dead ahead and straight above. They were free of clouds.

"1-1, you're okay!"

The jubilant voice belonged to Dagger 2, the last of his flight of MIGs, two of the Sukhois following behind him. Further above, the MIG 25 and the other two SU17s were flying together as well.

"All callsigns, this is 1-1 Lead, make for the far opening directly ahead. We're getting the hell out of here."

Yet even as Nikolai said it, the far walls of the cauldron began to darken and as if from nothingness, dark tendrils of cloud began to form around them and rise up from below. Rising like serpents, wriggling and writhing as if each alive and with a will of their own.

"GO GO GO!" cried Nikolai, pushing his MIG to afterburn and shooting for the far opening, the MIG 25 and other 2 Sukhois lost from view.

Xxx

Captain Oleg Kedrov didn't know what kind of nightmare he had walked into, but he had every intention of getting out of it alive. So when their path ahead was blocked by writhing, and rising black pillars of cloud like deformed fingers on a hand, he went vertical.

He went into a hard climb, the engines of his MIG 25 screaming as they were fed fuel, and the two SU17s followed suit when their other path of escape was lost to them. They went hard into afterburn, becoming more rockets than aircraft as they fought for altitude and the clear skies above.

25 000 feet, the pillars had become a single black mass of boiling clouds, looking more like tar that was racing after them.

27 000 feet, it was gaining on them.

30 000 feet, one of the SU17s is overtaken by it, and Oleg watches it disappear from his mirror, not even an explosion. The remaining SU17 pilot pushes his plane harder, no doubt doing irreparable damage to the engine in the process, but it was of little concern if he died here. They were almost at the gap above them and past it freedom. Then, to his horror, Oleg watched the edges begin to close in towards the center.

33 000 feet...Impossible was the only thought that went through Oleg's mind as a hand, an actual hand, massive beyond belief reached out from the rising mass of cloud and crushed the other SU17 in its grasp, like a child might a paper airplane. The it stretched up for Oleg.

 _In thrust we trust._ Oleg pushed his Foxbat past all safe limits as he forced the throttle to the wall and his afterburners became a pair of supernovas, the force of acceleration sucking him back hard into his seat. The foxbat had been designed with one thing in mind and that was to make an interceptor go as fast as it could with the largest engines that it could. It accomplished its purpose beautifully. It rocketed him upwards, outrunning the reaching hand and through the closing top of the cauldron, just moments before it closed shut.

45 000 feet, Oleg kept climbing.

At 50 000 feet, Oleg finally leveled off and let his breathing return to normal. A quick instrument check showed that he would have to limp home and hope against hope that his engines didn't give out on him on the way back. He had enough fuel, though he had burned through far too much going into afterburn so much and for as long as he had.

"What the fuck?" breathed Oleg, looking down at the cloud cover below. It was...faces. Bodies of people and their faces on the top of the cloud writhing as if in indescribable agony. Large, super imposed even, but that was the top of whatever hellish nightmare that they had been trapped in. Innumerable people in indescribable pain. On reflex, like it was an ingrained instinct, Oleg began taking pictures.

Xxx

"PUSH! KEEP GOING!" shouted Nikolai, racing through the exit of the cauldron a moment before it closed. One of the SU17 pilots was not as lucky and he only made it halfway through before the clouds cut his craft as neatly as a metal press. The cockpit spun away, before the crushing wall of black cloud consumed it and the pilot within.

"Almost there, don't stop!"

The walls around them were collapsing inwards like walls of sand and the opening ahead was rapidly closing.

"Come on, come on," urged Nikolai, as he and the other two surviving members of his flight raced ahead in afterburner.

"It's closed!" shouted the Dagger 2.

"Fire the R40s."

"They've got nothing to lock onto," protested the younger pilot.

"Just do it!" snapped back Nikolai sharply.

Nikolai and his wing man fired all of their missiles blind, watching them streak ahead and strike the wall of cloud, exploding like they had hit a wall of rock.

The detonations opened a small gap in the wall, revealing clear blue sky beyond. Nikolai and his wingman put their planes on a knife edge to make it through the gap that their missiles had made. However, their R40s lacked the explosive power of the Kh-25s and in a matter of seconds after being ripped open by the missiles, the edges rushed in again to fill the hole, before the SU17 could pass through.

The attack craft crumpled like it had impacted solid rock, killing the pilot instantly and making what was left of the craft disappear in a fireball.

Nikolai leveled out his craft and breathed as sigh of relief as he watched the dark mass of hell retreat further into the distance as they sped away from it.

"We made it Dagger 2, that was some good flying. Dagger 2? Vyacheslav, respond."

Dagger 2's aircraft was still on a knife edge facing away from Nikolai, showing him the belly of the plane, but not the cockpit.

"Dagger 2, I said," Nikolai's voice died away as the MIG slowly righted itself, but Vyacheslav was very dead.

The plane was ripped on top, long claw like gouges in its surface and there were...things on it. Ghastly apparitions that seemed to be made of air more than flesh. Made of varying shades of gray, they wore what seemed to have been robes that billowed in the wind behind them. Nikolai watched as they ripped the young pilot out of his cockpit one piece at a time, the pieces of his body flying away as they dismembered them.

"You bastards!" cursed Nikolai, falling quickly into attack position behind his now deceased wingman's plane.

He lined up the reticule, just as he had for 23 other unfortunate souls before, and pressed down the firing studs. Green 23mm rounds cut a deadly path into the MIG, tearing it apart and the things on top of it with it.

Pieces flew off of the plane until with an ignition of fuel, it caught fire an exploded, sending debris shooting past Nikolai on either side. A body shot past, narrowly missing his cockpit, but with a screech of tearing metal, stuck into the fuselage of his craft. Looking into his mirror, Nikolai saw that it was one of those things.

It lacked eyes, but still had the blank black sockets where it should be. Its body shimmered and wavered, as if it was made of air itself. Its hair, or what seemed to be hair, was scraggly and greasy looking, sprouting from a scalp and skin that look like the mummified carcase of someone left to rot. Where its nose should be, there was only a blank hole. Its hands ended in wicked claws, each finger a foot long, if not more and they were currently sunk into his MIG, jet fuel spraying up around the fingers. Then started clawing its way forward.

"Get off my plane!" growled Nikolai, spinning over hard into a series of rolls, the brown and the greens of the ground switching place with the blue of the sky in quick succession. Looking in his mirror, he saw that _thing_ still clinging on for dear life, then with a screech of metal, punched its hand forward into the fuselage of his MIG, slowly dragging itself forwards.

Nikolai did a hard split S maneuver, before climbing and diving yet again, but the screech of metal being punctured let him know that the creature was still his unwanted passenger. It was getting soaked with jet fuel, but with each passing moment, it clawed its way closer to the cockpit, and Nikolai within.

Nikolai went straight vertical and hit his afterburn, shooting upwards like a rocket as the forces pulled him hard into his seat, yet ever few moments that he was climbing he heard the squawk of metal being punctured. They were coming in quicker succession now that they were slowing down. Not even a MIG can fight gravity forever.

He was at 40 000 feet when he heard a squawk of metal, directly behind the cockpit. Looking in his mirror, the thing was grinning into it, revealing teeth filed to points, and though its eye sockets were empty, they appeared like they were looking directly at him.

Nikolai pulled back hard on the stick as the thing finally reached the canopy of his cockpit. A _scree_ filled Nikolai's ears as the thing dragged its claws atop the glass enclosing him, leaving long scratches in its surface, a victorious grin on the things face.

It drew back its hand to punch through the glass and to the pilot below, just as Nikolai faced the nose of the MIG down towards the ground and pushed the throttle to the wall. The sudden acceleration caught the thing off guard and it lost its grip, falling backwards, but catching itself with a ripping of metal on the back of the craft.

A _boom_ sounded as Nikolai broke the sound barrier and continued to gain speed, even as his altimeter spun crazily, almost unable to keep up with the rapid altitude loss. The thing was slowly sliding backwards as Nikolai gained speed, the metal unable to support the weight of the thing or sharpness of the claws embedded within its skin. Squealing and shrieking as the metal gave way. _It_ was barely visible through the spray of jet fuel, but Nikolai could still make out its shape through the mist.

They were at 20 000 feet when they broke Mach 2 and kept accelerating, the MIG beginning to shake from the air buffeting its ripped form. They hit mach 2.3 at 10 000 feet and the MIG was vibrating violently, even as the forces of acceleration crushed Nikolai into his seat. Then, with a final groan of metal no longer able to maintain its struggle, a large portion of fuselage ripped free, taking the _thing_ with it. Well, after it passed through the lit afterburner, lighting its jet fuel soaked frame on fire like a torch. If Nikolai wasn't going faster than the speed of sound, its screams would have penetrated his cockpit.

Nikolai cut the throttle back to nothing and pulled back on the stick sharply, but the MIG wouldn't respond and kept him on course, rocketing towards the ground like an aluminum missile.

Nikolai's breathing filled his ears as he pulled the stick back with all of his might back into his gut, but the controls wanted to slam through the dash of the cockpit, fighting him every step of the way. Slowly, the plane began to nose up and Nikolai almost wished that it hadn't. It was almost like the G forces were trying to crush his bones into powder, it was actually painful. Like every organ in his body was trying to crush itself against one another.

"Over G. Over G. Danger. Over G," sounded the robotic warning voice as the frame of the MIG began to groan at the forces being exerted on it. Metal squeaking and squawking in protest.

Even with his G suit, clenching his muscles, and breathing like he had been taught, Nikolai's vision began to gray out. It started with colors losing their vibrancy, then making everything fade into a monochromatic view, before finally having the edges of his vision darken and close in towards the center.

The MIG was fully facing forwards, but still falling like a rock, its wings bending upwards with the force of descent and threatening to break free at any moment. Groaning and squawking, the metal voiced its protest at the abuse it was being put through.

At 3000 feet, the MIG finally started inching its way forward.

At 2000 feet, Nikolai's vision closed into a thin gray slit.

At 500 feet, Nikolai couldn't see the altimeter, couldn't hear anything, the only thing he was aware of was the treetops rushing up to meet him.

Yet, slowly, like watching the sun rise, his vision began to restore itself. The black disappearing to the corners of his sight, before disappearing entirely. Color began to fill in the gray like a child coloring in a picture and the sound followed it quickly afterwards.

Finally regaining full lucidity, Nikolai realized that he was skimming the treetops, his MIG screaming along just above their tips. He had blacked out, and if not had been on the cusp of it, yet his hands hadn't slacked at the controls.

Warning buzzers were going off indicating low fuel and looking into his mirror, Nikolai saw that fuel was no longer gushing out of the ruptured tank, because there was none left. It had all escaped through the missing top of his fuselage. A huge swath of metal had ripped free when that thing had finally been torn free.

Then the stall warning indicator started blaring and Nikolai realized that he was about to crash.

"Sorry old girl," muttered Nikolai, before reaching between his legs and pulling the ejection handle.

The cockpit blew away with an explosion of built in charges, a second before the propellant of the ejection seat ignited and shot Nikolai free free of his craft. It felt like it wanted to crush his already abused spine, but it only lasted a few moments.

Nikolai's parachute opened and he started drifting down towards earth, watching his MIG travel onwards for a ways before nosing down into the trees, crashing into them and igniting in a fireball. Nikolai felt a pang of guilt watching his plane in ruin after it had kept him alive through the hell that they had just endured.

"Fuck!" cursed Nikolai as he crashed in through the trees, the branches pulling and tugging at him like they were trying to tear him apart. His chute caught on, then broke branches with a sharp _snap_ , but not before swinging his legs up so that he landed on his back.

Nikolai let out something between a groan and a sigh as he laid looking up at the canopy of branches above him, feeling odd to be on solid ground again, but the feeling of pain both well known and unwelcome. Then a woman entered his view, with mocha skin, pale hair, sunset colored eyes, and pointed ears. The woman cocked her head quizzically at him.

Xxx

"Flight 1-1, this is Spectacle, over. Flight 1-1, this is Spectacle, over. Flight 1-1, this is Spectacle, respond, over."

"Spectacle, this is Observer, go ahead over."

"Observer? Where's 1-1 Lead, over?"

"He's gone Spectacle."

"Uh, say again on your last, did you say gone, over?"

"They're all gone Spectacle, they're all dead," said Oleg numbly as he guided his plane home.

Xxx

"Whew, that was fun," said Charon Jubilantly, wiping sweat from his brow as he did so. One got away, but that's not too bad for just playing games with them, wouldn't you agree?"

"Of course my lord, it is as you say," responded Desdemona, the pale-eyed woman kneeling before her creator and master, still bare and naked.

"Well now that that's taken care of, I think that its time to get a move on. Well?" demanded Charon testily as the woman stared at him in confusion. "Pick me up."

Understanding flashing across the woman's face and quickly she was at the apostles side and picked him up bridle style.

"My exertions have tired me, so I'm going to have a nap. Wake me if anything interesting happens."

"Yes my lord," answered Desdemona, Charon falling asleep before she could finish speaking. Watching him with her pale eyes as she cradled him in her arms, an idea occurred to Desdemona. She should kill him. He would be nothing but cruel to her and control her like one would a hound. She would kill him now.

Sudden blinding pain gripped her chest, so great that it only let her exhale before bringing her to her knees. Then just as quickly, it was gone. It seemed that her master was not without foresight. Any attempt to harm him, would simply leave her a crumpled wreck.

Desdemona started walking. She didn't know where she was going, but somehow she knew that it was the right direction, the one that Charon wanted to travel in. It hit Desdemona then that although Charon let her play at having her own thoughts and desires, she would forever be his puppet. One that would dance to his tune and his alone.

Xxx

Water dripped from Feliks' helmet and he looked up at the sky after holding out his hand to check for more raindrops. The sky was clearing just as fast as it had darkened and let loose its torrential downpour. It had actually gotten bad enough that they had needed to stop the Convoy, Ianthe even returning as the weather had worsened to seek shelter. She still looked thoroughly soaked and miserable though.

She also hissed in pain and rubbed at her ears as she removed her helmet, the brass bands that restrained her ears seeming to cause her no end of grief.

"Hey Ianthe, why do you wear those things if they cause you that much discomfort?"

"Don't ask about things you don't understand," said Ianthe, sounding unusually defensive.

"Well generally people ask about things that they don't understand so that they do understand. Kinda how things work."

"Well maybe you don't need to understand," shot back the mercenary.

"Okay, maybe I don't," conceded Feliks to the mercenary. "But you're also being snippy with your employer you know."

Ianthe stopped dead in her tracks and sudden realization dawned on her face.

"My lord, I meant no disrespect in what I said, I have treated our situation too informally and I beg your understanding."

"Ianthe. It's me, come on, I'm just giving you a hard time. Here, if you just take those clips off," said Feliks reaching.

"No, my lord it's fine."

"Just let me get it."

"I said no!"

"Come on."

"I will hit you, lord or not!"

"And got it," said Feliks as one of Ianthe's elf like ears sprang out and back into place. Instead of slapping him like he expected she would, Ianthe instead looked both embarrassed and ashamed.

"Ianthe, what's the matter?"

"You would not understand."

"Try me."

"In Messalon, because of the Southern Raiders, elves are reviled. They are spit upon, cursed at, and even lynched. Every trace of elfin design or origin is expunged in Messalon with brutal vehemence. I am only half elf, but it is enough. It is only because of my father and his station that I am even tolerated in the free cities. Were I to walk around with my ears showing as you have just revealed them, I would be outcast to all that I met, even more than I am now."

"But you're not in Messalon anymore."

"It makes no difference, the guilt is the same."

"Do you want some fortune cookie advice Ianthe?"

"Cookie?" asked the mercenary, tiling her head quizzically.

"Never mind, point is, you should never be ashamed of who you are, or what you are. Your heritage isn't something that you should ever feel guilty about. If people will resent you for something that you can't control and have no influence on, then they're not people that you want to be around in the first place. You don't need their approval, nor should you want it and besides, I think your ears are _really_ cute."

If Feliks wasn't seeing it, he would have thought it impossible for the pink blush that spread across Ianthe's cheeks to be real.

"Besides, maybe you won't be so grouchy if you're not in pain all the time. OW! Okay, that one actually hurt a little," said Feliks as Ianthe delivered a short punch into his arm.

"Hey Lieutenant, we've got a call from Zhukov on the radio."

"Roger that, I'll be right there. Well duty calls, talk to you later," said Feliks with a wave and trotted off to the BTR. Ianthe watched him go, then realized much to her annoyance that he had taken the brass clip with him. Now she had one ear that stuck out and one that didn't. Now she just looked weird.

With a huff Ianthe took off the other brass clip and felt the instant relief as soon as the annoying piece of cartilage sprang back into place. It actually did feel better now, and Ianthe felt her mood pick up. Damn him, he was right! Ianthe let out a huff of annoyance and turned around, only to see the little elf smiling up at her.

"I think he likes you," said Luella.

"If he does it's of no concern."

"And I think that you like him," continued the little elf.

"For an observant little elf, you sure know how to be wrong sometimes," said Ianthe.

"Well I think you do and just won't admit it," said Luella, smiling as she said so.

"Little Teacher, please stop prying," muttered Ianthe, putting her hand on top of Luella's head. "I am drenched and all I desire is a fresh change of clothes and do get out of this armor. That storm came up hellishly fast."

"Well the winds do make for some strange weather on this side of the mountains," offered the young elf.

"I know how mountains can make weather temperamental Little Teacher, but this was different. The sky was clear to the horizon in every direction one moment, then next, it was a giant thunderstorm. It formed right before my eyes."

"Maybe you just don't know weather like you think you do?"

Ianthe smiled at the elf's words, but it was a cold smile. She pulled the elf in tight against her and made a noise as if clearing her throat. Luella's eyes grew wide as a ball of mucous laced spit appeared at the mercenary's lips and slowly began to descend.

"No! Ianthe that's gross! Stop it! Stop it! This isn't nice! It's going to get in my hair! It's going to get in my hair!" protested the little elf squirming in futility in Ianthe's iron grasp as the ball of mucous slowly descended towards her.

At the last possible moment, Ianthe battle the drop away and spit on the ground, before smiling down at Luella.

"That wasn't nice," said Luella crossly, blonde brows furrowed in displeasure over top of her purple eyes. Those same eyes went comically wide as Ianthe made the same noise as before.

"Just clearing my throat little teacher, the air up in the sky makes it terrible dry," purred Ianthe, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

"I hope you step in poop!" retorted the petite elf hotly.

"Do you really hope for that Little Teacher?"

"...No," said Luella after a moments pause, sounding almost like she was apologizing. "I don't."

"What if I were to clear my throat again?"

"Well I-stop it Ianthe! Where are you taking me?" protested Luella as Ianthe picked her up.

"To feed you to my dragon."

"You're being mean!"

"Oh come now, this is how I show my affection Little Teacher."

"You need to learn better ways to show it!"

Luella shut her eyes as Ianthe carried her towards Maximus. Then, opened them when Ianthe set her down in the saddle.

"Luella, how would you like to ride a dragon?"

"R-really?" asked the elf, eyes going wide. "I thought that Messalonian knights didn't let other people ride their mounts?"

"We don't. Dragons imprint on only a few people and it can be dangerous for others to try to ride them. They're finicky like that. But if I were to, I don't know, imprint my scent on you by holding you close to me, and I were to ride with you then Maximus here just might take a liking to you.

At the mention of his name, the dragon turned its head to face the two women at its back, its massive head regarding them with its red eyes. Luella let out a short nervous squeak as the dragon looked at her.

"Don't show fear Little Teacher, he's seeing where you rank in the pecking order. If you act frightened, he will think he can boss you around. But, if you're above him," began Ianthe. She let out a sharp command in her native tongue and Maximus stretched his long neck and head flat out on the ground.

"He's as obedient as a puppy."

"How old is he?" asked the elf.

"I don't know. Dragons live forever and continue to grow in size as they age, though it's a very slow growth. Maximus here is also a bit lazy and laid back until he gets going, which is actually a good thing. It's really bad for getting a contract when your dragon eats the lord's horse. But Maximus only eats people I tell him to dont'cha boy?" praised Ianthe affectionately.

"Here, put this on," said Ianthe taking off her wet woolen vest and tossing it to Luella.

"But it's all wet," protested the elf.

"And smells like me. You don't want to get eaten do you?" Ianthe had to stifle a laugh at how quickly the elf put the woolen garment on.

"I'll be right back teacher."

"Where are you going?" asked Luella, worry in her voice.

"To go change. Don't worry Little Teacher, you'll be fine."

"But," protested Luella, only for her protests to fall on deaf ears. She sat on the saddle not daring to move until the dragon craned its head to look at her.

"H-hello Mr. Maximus, dragon sir, how are you today?" asked the elf, smiling past her discomfort. The dragon regarded her without making a sound, before turning back around and laying its head on the ground. A few minutes passed without incident as Luella merely sat on the dragon's saddle.

"Oooh, a bunny," cooed Luella, seeing a brown rabbit with a fluffy white tail moving by near the front of Maximus.

"Aw, he's so cute! Hey there little guy, what's your name? Do you want to come say hello? Be careful around Mr. Maxiums though, he's a big scary dragon you know."

Luella let out a short shriek as Maximus' head darted out like a striking snake and grabbed the rabbit with one powerful clash of his jaws. Then, moving his head slowly, dropped the other half onto Luella's lap.

"Oooh, a bunny," said Luella sounding close to tears as she held the bloody other half of the rabbit in her hands.

"Hey, Maximus shared his kill with you, that means that he likes you," said Ianthe, trotting up in fresh clothes.

"T-that's good at least," said Luella, a hiccup in her voice and looking like she could start bawling at any moment.

"Here, I'll just take that from you there," said Ianthe awkwardly, taking the other half of the rabbit carcass from the elf and tossing it away. Wincing as Maximus snapped it out of the air.

"I'll just do up your straps here so you won't fall off, and then we'll go," said the Mercenary to the nearly crying elf as she helped her into her harness.

"Tell you what Little Teacher, after we get back I'll catch you a rabbit that you can keep as a pet."

"Really?" asked Luella, cheering at the news.

"Of course Little teacher."

"I want one with white fur on the feet so that it looks like he's wearing socks!" said the elf energetically.

"Hey Ianthe, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Of course my Lord, what is it?" asked Ianthe to Feliks.

"Well it turns out that we've got a little problem."

"Problem?"

"Yeah, looks like we're search and rescue now, not reconnaissance."

xxx

"This is...how the hell did this even happen?" asked Alexandov, looking over the report.

"That's just it Comrade General, we don't know," said Orlov, Vlad's replacement.

"Ten aircraft. Jesus. They say that it was magic?"

"It's the only explanation for it General and so far as our elfin allies are concerned, that's exactly what it is. We thought that only Captain Oleg Kedrov made it out alive, but pictures he took show an ejection and parachute from Captain Nikolai Vasiliev's aircraft."

Alexandrov let out a weary sigh and rubbed at the scar on the side of his head.

"All aircraft are to be grounded until we get to the bottom of what caused this. Do we have any ground units close to where he went down?"

"We have one of our deep recon teams within a day or two depending on terrain from where he crashed. They've already been dispatched to go and look for him. Other than that, we're putting together a larger rescue team in case there are other...obstacles. There is something else that you should know General. The dark elves have been asking for help in slaying that dragon that's been attacking them."

"The one we were going to kill?"

"Yes General. They started by offering a large bounty of the dragon's head. When they didn't get any takers, the offer has changed to whatever the champion wants."

"Like having them secede from the Kingdom of Elbe."

"Pardon Comrade General?"

"Senior Warrant Officer Orlov, I want the rescue party bigger than first anticipated."

"How much bigger Comrade General?"

"I want the 73rd Guards Armored Division prepped to go."

"What units from the 73rd Comrade General?"

"The Entire 73rd."

AN: Well that was a shorter chapter than usual, but not too much shorter, but only a few days to update so not too bad. I've had that scene in my head for a long time so I felt that I really just needed to put it in. Also works as a bit of a balance since in the Anime the JSDF could act with impunity in the sky. I like the anime, but it kinda needs to be more balanced of (in my opinion) yeah we're more powerful than the vast majority of stuff here, but there's still some scary stuff in this world.

Also I think my fondness of Warhammer 40k shone through a little bit with some of those scenes, but it's also how I see magic. I see it as you harnessing your emotions and using them. Things like fire or lightning are more neutral, but other things are darker and more sinister. Also shows a difference of character. Luella uses her powers to help the life around her, while Charon uses life to fuel his power.

As always leave a review, good or bad and I'll get back to you about it as soon as I can. Thanks for reading.


	15. Chapter 15

AN: I just wanted to bring up that I find it funny nobody brought up that Feliks listened to Luella when she said they should go around the mountain that everybody thinks is cursed, instead of through it. I mean that's how you avoid a horror movie right there.

"Hey Ianthe, what's wrong with your hair?"

"Hm?" asked the mercenary, looking up from her still cooking breakfast.

"Your hair," continued Luella pointing to the base of her of own scalp. It's different here.

"Oh, that," said Ianthe after a moment of confusion and running her hand up to the roots of her hair that were coming in a bright sunlight blonde. "I ran out of bleach."

"You bleach your hair? But your eyelashes are silver too," said the petite elf in confusion.

"I bleached those too," said Ianthe.

"With what?"

By way of reply Ianthe tossed an empty bone container to Luella. The elf opened it and coughed, scrunching up her face and eyes watering. She quickly screwed the cap back on.

"You had this by your _eyes ?"_ asked the elf incredulous.

"I'm careful when I do it, don't worry too much little teacher."

"But that can't be safe," protested the elf.

"Neither is riding a dragon, but nobody protests that," quipped Ianthe.

"Well that's because Maximus would eat them," offered Luella. By way of reply Ianthe clacked her teeth together at the petite elf.

"So naturally then, your hair is like mine?"

"Brighter, really bright yellow, like spun gold."

"We're like sisters!" exclaimed Luella happily.

"Not quite. I'm not as cute as you little teacher," said Ianthe, pinching the elfin woman's cheek.

"You can stop now," said Luella, patience running thin as Ianthe continued to pinch and pull her cheek like an annoying relative.

"I could," conceded Ianthe, but continued to pull at Luella's cheek, the elf clearly no longer amused by it.

"Am I interrupting something?" asked Feliks walking up and Ianthe gave Luella's face one more pinch before letting go.

"No," said Ianthe, ignoring the hostile look from the petite elf as she massaged at her cheeks. "Nice to see that you could get up," continued the mercenary.

"Well I'm not used to doing that much exercise in the morning. Thank god for slings," said Feliks gesturing to the AK had he slung across his back as he massaged his arms. Ianthe had done pushups, and all manner of exercises until she was sure that the Soviet was going to puke. She had to give him credit though, he never once complained or did anything but give it his all.

"You couldn't even hold yourself up anymore," said Ianthe with a cocky grin. "Don't have a machine for that yet do you?"

"Oh give it a couple of years blondie," said Feliks and Ianthe scowled.

"Why is everyone obsessed with my hair?" muttered the mercenary.

"Because it's new and new things are cool," said the Soviet smiling, before his eyes fell on Luella.

"Luella I thought that we agreed no more chocolate in the morning."

"No. You said that. I acknowledged that you said it," said Luella defiantly eating another piece of the chocolate bar in her hands.

"Well I was serious, that isn't good for you. Hand it over," demanded Feliks reaching for the bar and stopping short as Luella crumpled the wrapper around the bar and shoved it down her shirt into the valley between her breasts. A triumphant look on her face.

That look turned to outright shock as Ianthe reached her hand down the front of her shirt and pulled out the chocolate bar, handing it to Feliks.

"I'm not a man, so don't try that around me," warned the mercenary. "You need to show more respect to Feliks and the Soviets. I don't want to be stern with you, but I will if I have to be."

"That was a bad touch," mumbled Luella hugging at her chest in shock, making Ianthe's ice chip blue eyes widen in surprise, before the mercenary burst out laughing. Doubling over and clutching at her stomach, tears of mirth filling her eyes as she laughed high and clear, betraying her elvish heritage as she laughed as only elves can laugh, causing Luella to laugh as well.

"Hey Ianthe, could you come and get Maximus to move? He's sunning himself on the tank and Dima can't get in unless he moves."

"Of course my lord," said Ianthe wiping at her eyes and following Feliks to the sleeping dragon.

"See you later shol moraes!" called out Luella cheerfully to Ianthe as she left, causing the mercenary's eyes to widen before she smiled and waved back to Luella.

"You as well little teacher."

"What did she call you?" asked Feliks, knowing practically no elvish.

"She called me big sister," said Ianthe still smiling.

"Well that's nice," said Feliks and Ianthe shook her head in amusement at the Soviet's ignorance.

"It's more than nice Feliks, it's an honor. An elf will do anything for family."

"That's pretty special then," admitted the Soviet.

"It is."

"Mind if ask you a question Ianthe?"

"Of course my Lord, go ahead."

"So what was with the bleach?" asked Feliks curiously. "That seemed like some pretty harsh stuff to use."

"Elves have blonde hair," was all Ianthe said and Feliks didn't pry any further.

When Ianthe had coaxed Maximus off of the tank and was ready for her morning flight she was securing her steel breastplate, but having trouble reaching the leather straps at the back, so Feliks tightened them up for her.

"There you go, all good," said Feliks and was surprised when Ianthe turned around and reached up, fixing his collar that had turned up without him noticing. Flattening and smoothing it, then doing up one of his breast pockets that he had left undone.

"Can't have the officer looking sloppy my Lord," said Ianthe, before mounting up and taking into the air with a snap of leathery wings.

xxx

Abram was struggling to keep pace with the Lieutenant as they searched through the forest for signs of the pilot who had ejected, but so far they had found no signs of him.

Lieutenant Volkov moved through the dense undergrowth like another might on a paved sidewalk, seemingly heedless of the branches that pulled and tugged at them as they moved. He was also unnervingly quiet, nearly silent as he moved through the bush. If Abram hadn't been watching him, he would have sworn that the Lieutenant wasn't with them. He had also ditched his steel helmet for a floppy brimmed bush hat and called listening halts fairly frequently which suited the Ukrianian marksman just fine, since it gave them time to rest. He had made them all cam up though, which was slightly annoying, but expected. The camouflage paint always stained Abram's skin and seemingly refused to come off.

One would have assumed that Abram would have been able to keep pace with the Lieutenant easily enough, being an experienced hunter himself having spent time hunting wolves east of the Urals with his uncle when he had been sent to visit his cousins. Yet even with his experience, he was like a clumsy oaf compared to the Lieutenant.

Whereas Abram tried to place his feet carefully and minimize sound, Volkov seemed to glide across the ground like some kind of malevolent shadow. Blending into the gloom of the forest as if he was merging with the shadows cast by the long branches overhead.

They'd spent most of the day searching, just as they had the past three days. The pilot would know that if he wanted to be found he would have to stay near the crash site, but if there was something else looking for him, maybe he had kept on the move. If he was still alive at all that is.

They'd found the remains of the aircraft, but the pilot hadn't been inside, or rather near what had remained of the MiG. They'd spent a long time searching the immediate area, before coming to the conclusion that he had moved on.

They searched outwards in ever widening circles with that girl mercenary and dragon circling overhead, looking for any signs of the pilot, but so far even they had been unable to find the pilot, though she had found a parachute stuck in the trees and so they had once again based their search from that point.

"Fucking feet man," cursed Averin, the gray-eyed Soviet taking off his boots and soaked socks, shaking them out as they stopped for a quick meal.

"You were the one who thought he saw something on the other side of the marsh," said Vitsin, the blonde medic eating a granola bar and watching water pour out of the boot.

"Yeah, but I thought that if we had found this pilot we'd be done and could head back to the BTRs."

"You just don't like walking," countered Abram.

"I didn't go to art school to go on nature walks," muttered Averin bitterly.

"Why did you go to art school anyways?" asked Vitsin.

"To learn cosmetics. Not that kind," said Abram defensively, noticing the look that the small Ukrainian marksman and blonde medic gave each other.

"Then what?" asked Abram.

"The movie kind. You know the makeup and masks that they wear? Like werewolves and stuff like that? I want to do that. Always liked drawing in school and I liked making sculptures so doing it for a living sounded pretty awesome to me. Just doing the army thing because I have to really, few more months and I'm never going to have to sleep under a tarp in the middle of winter again. Fuck I hate that," said Averin emphatically.

"You should be hating your wet feet," said Feliks walking up and everyone sat up straight. Averin almost jumped when the Lieutenant grabbed his foot and looked at it.

"You're going to fuck your feet if you walk around in wet boots all day," said the Lieutenant casually, but there was an air about his that made Averin want to do nothing but keep him in a good mood. Like he was a stalking predator waiting to lash out.

"Yes Lieutenant," said Averin.

"Do you have any spare socks?" asked Feliks.

"No Lieutenant," said Averin, feeling uneasy as the blood red haired Lieutenant sighed through his nose, before reaching back into his pack and pulling out a pair of socks, tossing them to him.

"Make sure that your feet are dry before you put them on," cautioned the Lieutenant, before taking Averin's boots, loosening the laces, and taking the soles out.

"Vitsin, you still carrying around that old newspaper?"

"Yes Lieutenant."

"Pass it here," said Feliks and when he had the paper, he wadded it up and stuffed it into Averin's boots.

"Should take most of the moisture out if we just wait awhile," said Feliks looking at his watch. "I doubt that we're going to find him today anyways. Haven't seen a goddamned thing yet. Alright, half hour break, at least two men on watch with boots on and rifles ready. Wake me when it's time to go," said Feliks laying down against a tree and pulling his field cap low over his eyes after taking off his boots and socks. Kalashnikov resting in his hands as he napped.

Xxx

Ianthe was hot, sweaty, and irritated. The temperature was scorching today and it beat down on her steel and wool encased form. Even flying on the back of Maximus did little to escape the heat in their endless search to find some man who piloted one of the flying machines the Soviet's called Migs.

Ianthe had her steel helmet on the bank next to her as she splashed water from the river onto her face and rubbed away the sweat and grit. How she longed for the bathes of Messalon, especially the one in her manse that drew from the hotspring flowing beneath it. A chance to strip out of her woolen leathers and steel to have a few hours with which to bathe, truly bathe and get the stink of the road off of her. Or even the showers of the Soviets and their access to hot water, or freezing cold on demand.

Ianthe liked to be clean. She didn't mind having to live life in the field or a siege camp and had grown accustomed to doing so, but she liked to practice good hygiene. Too many great warriors had died of their own filth rather than their enemies blades. Refusing to treat a 'scratch' or even clean it out as some sort of test of bravado and falling ill and then finally dead to infection. Plus, Ianthe was a girl, but more than that a woman.

She liked to watch men box, go to the chariot races, and compete in the Free Games when she had the time, but she also had more feminine tendencies. At home her dresses would smell of lavender, her breath of crisp mint, and her body of whatever perfume caught her fancy for the day. Here, she would settle for just not smelling like drunken beggar.

The cool water brought welcome relief as she splashed in on her face, but a huff from Maximus as he rose to his haunches put her on alert. She looked further up the river and felt revulsion as she saw corpses floating downstream.

Ianthe looked down at the water cupped in her hands and threw it down, flailing her hands in disgust as if insects were crawling across them. Wiping at her hair with a cloth and trying to get every last drop of water off of her.

They were fresh corpses Ianthe realized. Maybe being in the river since last night at most, but terrible wounds on their bodies as if someone had hacked at them with heavy steel blades. Either greatswords or else axes judging by the wounds, and severed limbs. Pieces of debris and lumber mixed in amongst the corpses. Had a building also collapsed into the river?

Ianthe had just resolved to hurry back to Feliks and the others when she saw one odd corpse in the river. It looked like it was whole and it was slumped over a larger board in the river. Ianthe took a half step back as the corpse opened her eyes and looked at her, raising her head weakly.

Ianthe ran to Maximus and grabbed a rope out of the saddlebags, before making a quick lasso and managing to toss it around the woman. She pulled her in towards the shore, wading into the shallows of the slow moving water and grabbed hold of the woman, mindful of the fearsome looking gashes on her back.

Ianthe set her down on her stomach so as to not aggravate her injuries, looking for her bandages and poultices so she could treat the young woman who was maybe in her mid 20s. As Ianthe made to apply a salve to the woman's back to prevent any further bleeding or infection, she was surprised as the woman grabbed onto the front of her woolen vest with strength that only the desperate or possessed had.

"You have to help them," said the woman with remarkable strength for her condition, before her gray eyes rolled back inside her head and she lost consciousness. Ianthe grabbed hold of the woman as she slumped forwards and slung her across Maximus' back, securing her, before taking to the sky.

Xxx

Feliks watched as the golden light died away and the nasty looking gashes on the woman's back closed as if they had never been there. She had long dark hair and quite frankly in his opinion, was beautiful.

Ianthe had brought her back on Maximus surprising them, but Luella had been all too eager to help as she always was when someone was in need of aid.

They threw a blanket over top of her since they had removed what tatters of her clothes had remained, bloodstained and soaked had they been. Both for decency's sake and for warmth since being in the river for so long, then on the back of a dragon had lowered her body temperature to near dangerous levels.

Slowly, the woman let out a low groan and her eyes fluttered open for a moment, before closing as if the woman had woken up from a pleasant sleep that she wished to return to. She stayed like that for a matter of heartbeats, before her eyes shot open and she bolted upright.

"The children!" exclaimed the woman, before looking around in confusion. "W-where am I?" asked the dark haired woman in confusion, looking around the tent that they had brought her into. Clutching the blanket around herself as her raven tresses fell in gentle waves past her shoulders.

"Ianthe found you in the river amongst the dead and brought you back here for treatment. Luella, the elf here was the one who treated you."

"Hi!" said Luella cheerily with a wave.

"My name is Senior Lieutenant Feliks Volkov of the Red Army of the Soviet Union. We brought you back to our camp, you're safe now."

"So, there are more of you?" asked the woman hopefully.

"There are," said Feliks.

"Thank the creators," said the woman sounding relieved. "You are the mottled men yes? I've heard about you and your strength. We have to go quickly to Riverbend. We may be too late already, but if we leave now we might get there in time," said the woman trying to stand, but seeming to have a spell of dizziness almost falling down, the petite elf Luella catching and steadying her.

"You can't move around," chastised the elf concerned. "You were almost dead when I healed you and I did what I could, but you still have to rest. You need time to recover or you'll drop from exhaustion."

The raven haired woman was breathing heavily and her eyes glazed over for a moment as Luella helped her lay back down on the cot they had set her upon. She laid like that for a minute, before she seemed to regain enough strength to speak again.

"I need your help," she finally said, looking at Feliks. "A man came to the village the other day seeking shelter. We thought nothing of it since the Bishop of the area resides in Riverbend and it has the largest temple with altars to many gods and spare rooms for the needy. We're always getting travelers and vagabonds seeking shelter and aid. The man seemed normal, was even polite when I brought him supper and a fresh change of clothes. He thanked me. I am just a junior priestess so my duties require me to look after those who stay in the temple. Not that I wouldn't do so even if it wasn't my duty. But that man...he wasn't a man."

"What do you mean?" asked Feliks.

"I mean...he wasn't human. He wasn't elvish, wasn't an orc, wasn't...holy," continued the woman, voice thickening with fear as she talked about it. He murdered the bishop and I found him...eating his flesh when I went to change the candles at the altars. His eyes, they had no soul in them when he looked at me. I screamed when I saw him. I screamed and I ran, but he followed me. I ran to the town square calling for help, begging for it and the men came to help. They know me and the bishop and they came to help me, but that...that _thing_ just laughed when they picked up their axes and harpoons. Then he killed them, laughing as he did. He struck me across the back and injured me, but didn't kill me. I...I think he wanted me to watch what he did next. He didn't stop with the men though, he went for their wives, and their children too. His strength was not that of a mortal being and I tried to get help, to light the signal fire and call the lord's banners. Riverbend sits on the river itself, with settlements on either side and it spans the gap in between with bridges and huts. I was on one of those bridges when he ripped it from its mooring and cast me into the river. I held onto my life and a timber hoping that I could find help, but now I have," said the woman, something like mania making its way into her eyes and voice.

"You can help. You can stop him and save the villagers. Riverbend is easy to find and with the strength of the mottled men helping I'm sure-"

"I'm sorry, but we have our own mission that we have to complete. We can't help you," said Feliks, watching as the priestess' face fell.

"But, but surely you can at least go to the village? There are children there, little children. Please, if nothing else do it for them."

"I'm sorry ma'am, but I can't deviate from my orders."

"But...but, I," mumbled the woman, seemingly unable to comprehend what she was hearing.

"Ser Knight, surely you will help? A draconian knight would surely have the power to save Riverbend," said the Priestess, turning to Ianthe in desperate hope. "The gods will surely reward you for your bravery."

"I fight for silver Priestess, not faith," said Ianthe bluntly.

"But, I thought...you're a mercenary correct? From the free cities? There's money in the temple. Silver idols and we have a modest sum of money from donations. Please, you can take as much as you can carry, all of it if you'll just help. Please, they're good people, I'm begging you to help. If it's money that you want, I'm sure that they'd reward you themselves as well. You could make a lot of money if that's what you want."

"I also already have a contract Priestess and I don't break contracts. I also doubt that there's much left of anything in your village if what you've told is even half true. Plus night is coming and I'm not looking to fight a monster in the dark."

"But...but...this," continued the Priestess, looking as if she was going to go into hysterics, before becoming eerily calm. She stood then, shakily, but she brought herself to her full height and looked Feliks in the eyes. Her gray eyes resolute and determined.

"I've been a member of the church since I was a little girl and am forbidden to lay with another, but I know how men gaze at me. Because of how I look, they always look at me with a hunger, even if they already have wives and they know it's a sin to covet another. I know that they look at me so because they want me to warm their beds," continued the woman and let the blanket she had wrapped around her shoulders fall to the ground, leaving her bare and naked.

She was fit and toned with large, but firm breasts, slender curves, and long legs. Her face was pretty, beautiful even and her body was unmarked by scars or any blemishes that Feliks could see and a little tuft of dark hair sat neatly above her sex.

"I have nothing left to barter with but my body. If you'll help them, you may use me however you wish my lord," said the priestess emotionless. "I do not have experience, but no man has touched me before. You would be the first." Something like rage flashed across Ianthe's face at the actions of the Priestess, but other than clenching her fists, the Messalonian didn't do anything.

"It doesn't matter what you offer me, because I can't help you. I don't have the authority to deviate from my mission or use Soviet resources for secondary operations. I'm sorry, but we're not going to Riverbend."

"But...but then...they're all going to die," said the priestess tearfully, falling heavily to her knees and beginning to weep. Luella going to her side and putting the blanket back across her shoulders which the priestess drew tight around herself, shaking in grief.

Xxx

"So how's our guest doing?"

"Well she's still sleeping," said Boris. "She looked just about dead when Ianthe brought her in the other day, so I guess that it's an improvement. Luella's been taking care of her and I've been keeping the men well away. You know how it is with the boys when they've been on the road for a few weeks without any girls around. They see one and they all start thinking with their pricks. It was bad enough with just Luella and Ianthe, but with this one," said Boris giving a low whistle. "Christ if I wasn't married _I_ would be going after her. So what do we do with her?"

"Well unless we want her to get raped and murdered I suppose that she has to travel with us until we can at least drop her off at another temple, or else take her back to Zhukov with us. Too many bandits on the road to just let her go wondering off on her own."

"Hard sell telling her that we couldn't help wasn't it?"

"Well fuck, I wanted to, but we've got to find the pilot and we don't really understand this world yet. I mean the thing that she was describing sounded like some kind of evil apostle and I've fought an apostle before. I emptied a full mag of .308 into her and she just fucking kept laughing and the wounds healed immediately like nothing had happened. I'd be dead too if it wasn't for Ianthe and Luella. Say we roll into the village and we can't kill it? We rip off limbs with the HMGs and blow it apart with the 76mm, then burn it with the flamethrowers, only to watch the thing reform like an amoeba. Then what?"

"You don't need to justify your decision to me Feliks, it's a shitty situation anyway you cut it. Can't always play the hero. Sometimes you've just got to play the soldier. Look at it this way, she's alive because we were here. If we hadn't been then Ianthe wouldn't have been by the river and wouldn't have seen her. Sometimes you've just got to look on the bright side Feliks. We're up one from what we would have been."

"I guess so, but she probably doesn't see it that way."

"No. No she won't," said Boris quietly.

Xxx

So far as Nikolai's experiences with the other races of Falmart went, they were off to a great start.

His back was still sore and bruised, making getting up or walking a painful chore, but the dark elf who he now knew as Maeldes with the sunset colored eyes and silver hair was caring for him. She had made him a rather expansive bed of furs and cushions that she seemed to be trying to add to daily and if he was being honest with himself, it was _very_ comfortable.

They were in a cave and he noticed that whenever she had to go outside she would stare up at the sky with apprehension, as if willing herself to have the courage to venture fourth. When she returned, she would always come back with food, water, firewood, and whatever amenities that she could find. She also knew how to use a little of what Nikolai could only describe as magic and whenever she used it, his back always felt better.

He had attempted to make a signal fire to light so that it would be easier for a rescue team to find him, but as he had been about to light it Maeldes had returned and stamped out the fire before it had even been able to grown beyond an ember, something like terror in her eyes as she did so.

She had pointed to the sky and said two words over and over again, 'chath maelthra.' He had understood when she had pantomimed rather comically some terrible monster with claws and wings. Chath maelthra meant fire dragon.

He had also learned through various gestures, words, and quick drawings in the dirt of the cave that Maeldes had very nearly been eaten by a fire dragon, until Nikolai's flight had attacked it and scared it off. When she had found out that Nikolai had been one of the ones to attack it, she had grown very...gracious towards him.

As for her bedside manner however, well, Nikolai had no complaints.

She had taken it upon herself to feed him, though that was still within his ability to do. However, he quite frankly found that he was perfectly alright with the arrangement.

The dark elf was laying half on top of him and wearing very little, not that she or any of the others he had seen liked to wear much clothing at all to begin with.

She was feeding him grapes one at a time from a bowl, watching him take then from between her delicate fingers, before she would grab another and wait for him to finish, before holding it out towards him. Every once in a while she would hold up a cup of wine or water for him to drink from and when he had his fill, she would go back to feeding him grapes.

Still, as much as he was enjoying this, and he was, Nikolai knew that he had to try and make his way back towards Zhukov, or else try to signal headquarters if at all possible. So as much as he didn't want to, he would have to tell Maeldes to get off of him and try to make her understand that he had to find his way back to Zhukov.

A mischievous look came over Maeldes as she plucked another grape from the bowl and instead of holding it out for Nikolai, set it between her lips and leaned over top of Nikolai. To his credit as an officer of the Soviet Union, Nikolai crumbled immediately and took the offered grape, a darting tongue following it for the briefest of moments startling him.

Maeldes looked over her shoulder quickly as if confirming they were alone in the cave, before grinning down hungrily at Nikolai.

"Ssissinrin ulu vith?" asked the dark elf in a sultry tone above him and Nikolai only stared blankly.

Still grinning hungrily Maeldes slipped her hand under the furs covering Nikolai and then there was no doubt in his mind what she had asked.

"Vith?" asked Maeldes again, drawing the word out to excruciating length. Nikolai would have to remember that one.

xxx

Ianthe was flying overhead, looking for any sign of movement on the ground, but she found that she was distracted, fuming even. Who did that harlot think that she was offering herself to Feliks like some tavern wench? And right in front of her too! She had heard stories of some priests having less than holy relations with their altar boys and girls, but it seemed that the perversion was equal amongst its priestess' as well.

Ianthe ground her teeth in annoyance as she searched for any sign of movement on the ground, but like always she saw nothing. Not even travelers on the road. It was as if everyone was still in bed or else hiding, even though it was high noon. when she saw thick white smoke plumes coming from near the river. White smoke meant that the fire had already burned itself out and was only smoldering now. Curious, she brought Maximus around and headed towards it.

As she grew closer to the source of the smoke, she saw that it came from where the river bent sharply around an outcropping of rock. It must be the Riverbend village that the Priestess was talking about. As Ianthe flew over top of it her earlier predictions had proven prophetic.

She set Maximus down on the far bank amongst the charred remains of what had once been houses. Ash swirling around her as Maximus flared his wings to slow their descent.

Ianthe stepped off of Maximus, undoing her harness and stepping to the ground below, sinking ankle deep into the still hot ash. In the doorway immediately in front of her she saw a charred corpse with its skull split open.

Axe heads and the metal ends of harpoons stuck out from the ash that swirled at her feet, charred black from carbon. The smell of cooked human flesh and burnt timber assaulted her senses. The thing that bothered her the most as she walked through the village though, was that this made no sense.

She'd sacked towns before for loot and gold and seen other men do it for women and slaves as well. She'd seen death many times before, but this was different. There was no reason for this. No castle that needed starved of provisions, or rebellion that needed put down. The livestock hadn't been stolen, rather they laid as charred bones in their pens. Silver laid where it had fallen, so it wasn't for money that this had been done. Even though Ianthe kicked over a silver candlestick, she didn't take it as loot, even though she had picked corpses clean of anything of value on many battlefields. It felt like if she dared to take a single coin from this place, she would be cursed to suffer the same fate as what had happened to these people. Ianthe felt a chill run down her spine despite the heat and put her hand on her sword.

A dragon hadn't done this either. If it had, then everything would be ash and the metal would be hard shapeless lumps so hot was a dragon's fire. Not merely having their handles burned away. Someone had set this village ablaze building by building, one at a time. What shocked Ianthe the most, was that all of this. All of this destruction, had been done for the sake of destruction. This place...felt evil. No. This place wasn't evil, but evil had come here.

She searched the whole of the village on both sides, but found nothing except for more death and destruction. A prickling sensation of fear ever building the longer she stayed, like something was watching her.

Ianthe made to mount back onto Maximus, when she heard a shuffle of something moving through the ash.

"Who goes there?!" demanded Ianthe drawing her blade and being met with only silence.

"Either answer or I'll have my dragon burn what's left of this ruin to dust," warned Ianthe and Maximus raised his head and let loose a ground shaking roar, as if affirming Ianthe's threat. Red eyes filled with murderous intent.

A small head poked out from behind a charred stone fence, before quickly darting away. Advancing quickly, Ianthe leaped over the charred wall of what had once been the temple's garden, sword in hand and visor of her helm down. Maximus bounding after her, hissing lowly when she finally cornered what had been spying on her.

Two small children, filthy and wide-eyed, staring at Ianthe and Maximus. A boy and a girl, brother and sister most likely and they were trembling in fear at the sight of Ianthe and her dragon.

Deciding that they weren't demons in disguise, Ianthe sheathed her sword and walked slowly towards them, giving a curt command for Maximus to stay where he was. She took off her helmet and held it under her arm, going down to a knee in front of the children, noting the easing of their frightened faces. Being a woman sometimes made dealing with children much easier as Ianthe had learned.

"Easy now little ones, you're safe now," said Ianthe. "No one is going to harm you. Here, come here," coaxed Ianthe gently and the two grubby children came to her, if somewhat hesitantly.

"There we go, you're alright now," cooed Ianthe, stroking the grubby girl's hair.

"Are you a knight?" asked the boy.

"Aye, I am little one," said Ianthe.

"Did you come to slay the monster?" asked the girl.

"The monster is long gone sweet child."

"No. He's not," said the girl shaking her head and Ianthe felt as if her blood turned to ice at those words and her eyes widened.

"Then we should be," said Ianthe, grabbing hold of the children roughly and half dragging, half carrying them to Maximus, rapidly strapping them into the saddle. The feeling of something staring at her, of something about to grab her never leaving her.

With a mighty snap of wings Maximus took to the sky, leaving the burning ruin Riverbend in the distance behind her.

When they had finally reached the camp again, Ianthe's heart had finally returned to a normal rhythm and she unstrapped the two children who remarkably hadn't cried on their first flight on a dragon. They had slept instead, which was far more worrying.

They walked behind her closely, hugging onto her armored form as they gazed around in both confusion and awe at the Soviet camp.

She found the priestess sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest and head resting against them. She was dressed in spare Soviet clothing, but she was unable to do up the tunic that they had given her, the garment not designed for someone with such an ample bosom. She looked so despondent and depressed that Ianthe almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

"Sister Leonita!" cried the children and ran towards the raven haired Priestess.

The now named Leonita looked up quickly, eyes wide with first shock, then joy as she bounded to her feet and nearly tackled the children.

"Oh Cato! Hostia too! Oh thank the gods!" said the Priestess, crying again as she planted kisses on the foreheads of the filthy children as they buried their heads into her chest.

"We were so scared,"mewled the girl Hostia.

"I know, I know you were sweet child. I'm sorry I couldn't keep you safe, but you're safe now. You're both safe now. And you brave Cato, you hid your sister like I told you to didn't you?"

"Yes Sister Leonita."

"Oh good bod. What a sweet boy," cooed the priestess hugging both of the children close.

"You went to Riverbend didn't you?" asked the Priestess, her gray eyes filled with gratitude, locking with Ianthe's.

"I did."

"Were there," asked the Priestess trailing off.

"Just corpses and ash. And something else I didn't wait around to cross paths with."

"If you took any silver, you're welcome to-"

"I took nothing from that cursed place," said Ianthe. "What is there can stay there, I want nothing from it."

"Is there anything I can give you? Anything at all? A blessing perhaps? If I can do it I will gladly do so."

"So is one thing I want," said Ianthe kneeling down in front of the priestess.

"Name it."

"Make no more advances upon the Soviet Officer. Am I understood?"

"What I did...was unworthy of me," said Leonita, looking away from Ianthe in shame.

"It was. See that you remember that."

"I will. I promise I will ser knight. I owe you for this, more than I can ever repay. Thank you for saving them."

Ianthe regarded the dark haired Leonita with her icy blue eyes, before walking away.

xxx

The crack of a rifle sounded next to Feliks and he saw one of the empty ration tins topple off of the logs that he had placed it on. Looking over to his side, he saw a pleased grin on Ianthe's face like a cat preening itself, before she shifted her aim and slowed her breathing. She took in a few more breaths, held it, then squeezed the trigger. The Kalashnikov barked again, and another metal ration tin spun away into the brush.

"Pull straight back, you hitting a little to the right," said Feliks and heeding his advice the mercenary applied more even force in her next shot, taking an empty ammo spam can through the center and flinging it off of the log. The next three shots followed soon after, each one a hit.

"Not bad," said Feliks. "You're really starting to get the hang of it.

"Not bad?" asked Ianthe cockily. "I hit every single one of them on the first try."

"Yes, those are some very dead containers," said Feliks, fighting back a grin as a scowl replaced the cocky smirk on Ianthe's face.

"How about we try sparing with quarterstaffs? You haven't managed to hit me once yet."

"Well I would, but I'm not a masochist," said Feliks.

"You just don't like to lose," countered the mercenary.

"Well, do you?"

"No," admitted Ianthe. _"I_ like to win."

"Which is why you want to spar."

"Maybe I just want to help you get better?" offered Ianthe innocently.

"By beating me with a stick?"

"Every bruise is a lesson learned," said Ianthe sagely.

"I'm pretty sure you just like hitting me."

"Well, maybe just a little," admitted the mercenary. "So, what do you think of the priestess?" asked Ianthe, inspecting her fingernails.

"I don't know, seems nice," said Feliks.

"Seems nice?" asked Ianthe, giving him a sideways look.

"Yeah. She really seems broken up about what happened to her village and when you brought those kids back her face just lit up."

"It did," admitted Ianthe. "Have you...talked to her at all? In private maybe?"

"Other than when she first woke up? No, I haven't. I've barely even seen her actually, I've been busy trying to find that damned pilot. I don't know where the fuck he got off to. I mean we found where he came down at, but after that the trail just disappears into the forest."

"Oh, that's good, gives her time to grieve in peace," said Ianthe airily, before stretching.

"I guess. That pilot had better be fucking dying when we find him, I'm getting tired of pushing bush all day."

"Well I should let you get back to that," murmured Ianthe standing and stretching out her body.

"Yeah, yeah. See you tonight," said Feliks as Ianthe walked away with a swagger to her step.

xxx

"Luella whe-" began Ianthe, cutting herself off as she found the petite elf sleeping slumped against a rucksack and breathing softly in the dark. Though Luella didn't look it, she was still quite young for an elf, in her early teens for her species. Almost a child even if her body was almost fully developed.

She had spent the whole day helping with the search effort, leading the different groups through the densely packed forest and doubling back to find those who lost their way. Her ability to pick her way through the woods nigh on supernatural. She'd done if for sixteen hours, straight stopping only to pick up food to eat as she moved and it seemed that she had reached her limit.

Ianthe smiled down at Luella and bending down picked up the sleeping elf bridal style. Luella not so much as stirring as Ianthe carried her to where her tent was pitched. Ianthe carried her inside and took off the girl's boots and socks before placing her in her sleeping bag.

Ianthe had grown attached to the elf, a sisterly affection having manifested itself and she felt protective over the 'young' woman. She brushed the long locks of blonde hair away from Luella's face, before zipping up the sleeping bag to ensure that she stayed warm. Of all the things that the Soviets had, Ianthe had decided that zippers had to be one of the most useful. Much quicker than buttons or laces and much more convenient.

Ianthe left the tent and wandered around, the sentries recognizing her and giving her no trouble or challenge. She should have headed to her tent since she would need to be up early in the to help scout ahead and search on Maximus, but she felt restless.

The air of the night was cool, but not cold, even to her sensitive elvish ears which she left bare and unbound now. The moon was full and bright which made finding her way easy, easier still with her elvish eyes which could see nearly as well in the dark as the light, though they were sensitive to bright flashes of light.

She heard the clink of glass, barely perceptible, but her keen hearing picking it up and one of her ears twitching in response. She saw the top of Felik's head above a grassy knoll overlooking the river that snaked and wound its way through the land and so she made her way over to him, longsword swaying on her hip.

"Pop a squat," offered Feliks, gesturing to an empty patch of grass next to him. His AK on the grass to his left resting on his helmet while a vodka bottle filled his right hand.

"I know that I-oh," said Feliks, perhaps expecting Ianthe to chastise him when she took the bottle from his hand, but instead she tilted the bottle up and took a long drink herself, feeling the mild burning as the liquid raced down her throat and settled in her stomach, turning her insides pleasantly warm before she handed back the bottle.

"You did good today. You know, shooting. You're getting pretty good actually," said Feliks and Ianthe couldn't help but preen ever so slightly at the praise.

"And you're becoming less of a weakling, almost acceptably fit," offered Ianthe.

"I'm getting there. Still sore though," offered Feliks taking another sip of his vodka, before passing it to Ianthe and her doing the same.

"You don't give out a lot of praise, do you?" asked the Soviet and Ianthe couldn't help but grin.

"My father was never one quick to offer praise. He always said that people should not expect accolades merely for existing and that it should only be given when truly deserving. I remember when I became a blademaster of Messalon after I had passed all my trials. When the ceremonies were done he took me aside, put his hand on my shoulder, looked me in the eyes, and told me that he couldn't be more proud of me."

"Did you hug him?"

"No, I cried," said Ianthe. "I don't think he was expecting that," continued the mercenary thoughtfully, finding the drink clouding her mind, but also freeing her tongue. "Since I followed the martial path he always treated me as a boy with the same expectations. I think he sometimes forgot that I'm a woman."

"He sounds like a stern man."

"He is," agreed Ianthe, "but he's a fair one too. I pray that I may get to see him again soon and that I might be able to look him in the eye with pride. I think you would like him."

"Maybe, but I don't know if I'll get the chance to meet him. My tour ends in a month and then I'm heading back home," said Feliks as he took another drink.

"Oh, I see," was all Ianthe said, but inside she felt as if she had just heard she was never going to see home again. "I'm sure that you miss your home."

"Not really," said the blood red haired Soviet. "I don't really talk to my parents too much since we had a falling out and I haven't really kept in contact with the rest of my brothers and sisters."

"May I ask what the falling out was?"

"Sure, I don't mind telling you. One of my sisters, Anastasia is her name, she was the reason."

"Did you kill her lover?" asked Ianthe, sipping on Vodka.

"No, they wouldn't have been as mad at me if I had. My sister defected. Left everything behind, left us behind without so much as a word. Left me behind. We'd always been close, Anastasia and me, but I couldn't forgive her for that, for just leaving us. My parents wanted me to call her, to get her to come back, but this was when I was with the GRU and indoctrinated all to shit on ideology and loyalty to the party above all. More than that though, she hurt me by leaving without saying anything. I told them that she was a traitor and that she was no sister of mine worth having. I called her every name under the sun and cursed at my parents for defending her. That if she didn't care enough about us to stay with us, I wasn't going to go begging her to come back. I told them that I would kill her myself is I ever saw her again. I made my dad mad when I said that and he grabbed me, but I was strong then, just as fit as you, maybe more so. I threw him off me and I hit him. I hit him hard," continued Feliks, Ianthe could feel the regret in his voice as he said it. As if wishing he could take it all back. "I haven't spoken to them since."

"And now?" asked Ianthe.

"Now I just hope that she's happy wherever she is. I got a postcard one day, from America. I never read it though, I was too mad. I just threw it away."

"You should speak to them when you go home. If you leave wounds like that open, they will only fester and leave you with regret. I haven't spoken with my older brother in eight years and now I don't know if he's alive or dead. If I still have the chance to say I'm sorry and that I love him," said Ianthe, swallowing heavily to crush down the emotions that threatened to spill out, finding that a mouthful of vodka helped push them back where they belonged.

"You know you're not as hotheaded without those studs holding back your ears," said Feliks.

"You know you say the stupidest damned things at the wrong time," chastised Ianthe irritably. "And I can get quite angry now if that would make you feel better."

"I'm just...drunk," offered Feliks. "What happened?" continued Feliks, eyes having the dull sheen of someone becoming drunk and Ianthe was sure that her eyes were looking much the same.

"My brother Alyosha, he does not care for the company of women," said Ianthe slowly, unsure of how to explain her brother's affliction.

"You mean he's a homosexual?"

"He likes to have sex with other men, if that is what he is, then he is one. He is my father's eldest son and he was supposed to take over as the patriarch of my family when my father passes. However, he refused all matches that my father proposed between him and ladies of other houses. He always had excuses and I always defended his decisions. He was my older brother and I loved him more than any of my other brothers and sisters. I'm a bastard," said Ianthe, saying the word as if gritting her teeth and pulling a blade out of her stomach.

"More than that I'm an elvish bastard, unfit to wear my father's name, our family name. But that never mattered to Alyosha and he loved me all the same. He was my best friend and my protector. Nobody dared to torment me with him by my side, he would have killed them if they did. Alyosha is strong, both in body and spirit. He inherited our father's size and power. Alyosha taught me how to use a spear, taught me how to properly hold a sword and trained with me in secret before I had the courage to tell my father that I wanted to walk the path of the warrior. Defended me against my father's rebukes and so I defended his rejections of the potential matches that my father offered. This one too fat. That one too ugly. That one smelled foul, or snored too loudly. My brother was my hero and I believed no woman good enough to even be a sleeve for his cock, much less carry his child. When I came back from my first campaign I heard yelling, _angry_ yelling. My father is a ferocious man and I had never seen him so enraged as I did that day."

Ianthe took a breath to steady herself and emptied what was left in the bottle in a long draught before continuing.

"He finally told my father the truth. He told him how he had no interest in women, no interest in marrying, and no interest in fathering children. How his weekend hunting trips were really an excuse to visit his lover and that they were going to get their own villa together. I couldn't believe it. Hearing that was like having a spear driven through my heart. I called him a cockless coward. I said that he was betraying our family, betraying his duty, betraying our father, betraying _me_. I told him that I hated him. I told him to just fuck a girl and put a baby in her belly for the family. When he said that he wouldn't do that I told him that I never wanted to see him again. That he was dead to me and if he had any honor left he should drive his dagger into what remained of his shriveled heart. Yet through all of my cursing, all of my vile insults he never said anything back. I cut him deep with my words, but he refused to do the same. He _refused_ to hurt _me._ He was the one person who had never hurt me, _promised_ me that he never would even as I turned on him when he needed me most. He _refused_ to hurt _me._ He never yelled at me, never raised his voice, because even though I never drew a blade, I cut his heart from his chest that day. I stormed away after that and refused to speak with him. He left our home that day and I haven't spoken to him since. Now every time I think of him, I can only see the pain on his face that I caused with what I said to him. When I refused to speak with him. I want to now though. I want to beg for his forgiveness on my knees and tell him that I still love him. That I don't care where he sticks his cock, that he's still my brother and nothing will ever change that. Heh, he was even the one that was against me bleaching my hair. Said that it was dangerous, that I didn't need to do it," said Ianthe Morosely.

"You look better as a blonde anyway," said Feliks.

"Is that all you can say after that?" demanded Ianthe. "Plus it looks dumb with only the roots being blonde."

"I honestly don't know what else to say," admitted the Soviet. "I'm...not good at this kind of stuff. Wasn't it dangerous bleaching your eyebrows and lashes with that stuff?"

"I could have gone blind any time I did it had I spilled too much in my eyes," admitted Ianthe. "I wanted to fit in. I wanted to be _only_ human. You know, I think I owe you another story since you told me about your scar, not just one about me tripping," said Ianthe, the liquor making her feel talkative and reflective.

"When I was ten years old I had a crush on a boy. Kaapo. He was big for his age, and good looking too. In my infatuation and naivete I sent him a letter, a love letter in all honesty. I hardly ate and slept while I awaited his reply. I used flowery language and good parchment, and I was filled with embarrassment the moment I sent it. When he sent a reply I agonized opening it for a whole day and a night. When I finally did open it, wouldn't you know it he felt the same way. He promised me that we'd get married and have wonderful children together. That he would always love me. He wanted to meet me in three days at high moon on the acropolis. I was high with excitement and dreams of romance."

"I spent all of my money on a fine silk dress and sandals. All the money in the world that I had I spent on that dress. I braided my hair with flowers and had silver leaves woven into it when I went to meet him. I spent two hours putting on makeup like the noble ladies and I brought him a gift too. A bronze warrior's armband to wear. A mark of honor.

"I waited on a bench overlooking Plutus by the Fountain of Dreams. I could hardly wait and I couldn't decide on what I would say to him first. If I should let him speak first. Heh," laughed Ianthe bitterly. "I even wondered if we would get married that night."

"Well Kaapo showed up alright, with four of his friends. I was confused when I should have been running. They beat me and ripped off my dress," said Ianthe emotionlessly. "Broke my expensive sandals and pulled the flowers and silver leaves out of my hair. The real silver ones that I bought from a silversmith, not decorative ones. They called me a dirty knife-eared whore. An ugly elven bitch that should have known better than to made advances upon her betters. That I had to learn my place. They poured blood and tar on me, before dumping a bag of feathers on me. They called it an improvement and sent me home naked, bawling, covered in blood, tar, and feathers. Wouldn't you know it though? It was Alyosha who cleaned me up, who dried my tears and held me close until I stopped sobbing. He held an ugly little knife-eared bitch to make her feel better and on that day I swore I would never let anyone ever hurt me like that ever again. Alyosha began teaching me how to box the next day. His ugly little elven bastard bitch of a sister," choked out Ianthe, feeling tears start to fall.

She wiped at then roughly, sitting up from the grass, but stopped in surprise as a calloused hand tenderly wiped them away.

"You are beautiful, not ugly," said Feliks softly but purposefully.

Perversely, Ianthe thought that Feliks was trying to trick her, mocking her, but looking in his eyes she saw no deception, just tenderness and caring. Just like how Alyosha had looked at her. She cupped Feliks' hand to her face and felt warmth blossom in her breast that wasn't from the alcholol. Ianthe felt insane bravery well up inside of her fueling her desire and bolstered by the drink, she stretched out to Feliks and locked her lips on his.

She had meant it as a chaste kiss, but it quickly turned into a hungry one, one driven by desire and want. She broke it after a moment, noting the surprised look on Feliks' face and insane fear welled up inside of her that she had pushed too far. That he did not want her and that he would mock her and reject her. Those fears vanished as Feliks kissed her back.

At first she thought that he was hesitant or only leading her on, but then she realized that it was inexperience, not hesitance holding him back. So she resolved to show him the way and took over the kiss, deepening it and pushing him down beneath her so that his back was pressed firmly against the grassy knoll. Biting on his lip gently for him to open his mouth, but when he didn't get the prompt, she forced her tongue into his mouth. Having to force herself not to grin at his naivete even as she felt her body heat up and face flush.

"I always wait...too long...to let people know...how I feel," breathed Ianthe in between kisses, tasting the alcohol in Feliks' mouth and searching for every drop of it. "But not this time," promised the mercenary, holding his arms down as she let her passions run wild. Tearing off her belt and letting the longsword and dagger fall free, tossing them to the side in frustration as they only served to get in her way. Feliks now reciprocating eagerly, if inexperienced in his attempts.

"I want you. I want you to stay with me and come back to Messalon with me," said Ianthe Huskily, eyes hazy with drink and lust. "If you'll be mine and only mine then I will be yours and only yours. I don't want you to leave, but for tonight, I just want you inside of me."

"I," mumbled Feliks, face flushed and Ianthe silenced him with a kiss.

"I'll show you what to do," promised Ianthe straddling his waist, before taking off her black form fitting shirt and exposing her breasts to the chilly night air, pink nipples erect from arousal and the cold, before melding her body with his.

AN: Well I'm quite happy with how this chapter turned out. I was having a lot of trouble writing it and eventually after doing a few chapters for one of my other stories I just pretty much scrapped what I had for this entirely and started again. It turned out much better than the other one was going to.

I feel like I waited the proper amount of time for the romance to go from meeting, to friendship, to mutual respect, to trust, and finally to love and passion. I'm actually quite pleased with it if I do say so myself. Turns out Luella _is_ really perceptive about people. Leave a review and tell me what you guys thought of the chapter.


	16. Chapter 16

Feliks woke to the cool early morning air and a hand running back and forth across his chest, fingertips tracing the lines of muscle tenderly.

As his vision came into focus he saw Ianthe's impossibly bright eyes staring lovingly into his as she used his arm as a pillow. The two of them chest to chest and covered under a woolen blanket.

"Morning lover, sleep well?" asked the mercenary, unusual tenderness in her voice.

"Very well," said Feliks, a goofy grin making its way onto his face. "So then, does this mean we're together?"

"I didn't fuck you just to say goodnight," answered Ianthe, but not angrily, if anything she was coy and grinning as she said it. "So yes, we're together now."

"Good," said Feliks and Ianthe kissed him.

"You need more practice," teased Ianthe with a giggle as Feliks sloppily tried to return it. "Don't worry though, I'll give you plenty of chances to practice kissing and...other things," finished Ianthe in a husky whisper into Feliks' ear, making a shiver run down his spine. "So long as you're a good boy that is."

"And how do I know if I'm being good?"

"Well," said Ianthe drawing the word out. "Some of it involves being nice," said the mercenary kissing him chastely, fingers flitting across his chest. "While some of it involves being _naughty,_ " continued the mercenary in a sultry tone, nipping at his neck with her teeth and making Feliks' breath hitch as her fingers trailed their way down his chest and stomach, stopping just short of his groin and tapping on his pelvis expectantly.

"But we don't have time for the naughty right now," said Ianthe, a playful grin on her face as she grabbed her discarded clothing and began to dress. Making no effort to hide her nudity from Feliks as she did so.

"I think you left a mark on my neck," said Feliks rubbing where the mercenary had nipped.

"Good, now people will know that you're mine. Here, get dressed," said Ianthe and Feliks caught his pants that she tossed to him. "We have to start soon."

"Start what?" asked Feliks.

"Morning exercise. What? Did you think that I'd let you slack off today? This time I think I _will_ keep us going until you puke. Hope you enjoyed that vodka last night Feliks."

"I can't tell if you're playing with me or if you're serious."

"Oh, I played with you last night Feliks. Today I'm dead serious and the longer you make me wait the more I want to do pushups, and burpees, and wind sprints, and mountain climbers, and planking," said Ianthe prodding Feliks with her foot every time she said a new exercise. She let out a startled high-pitched yelp as Feliks grabbed her ankle and pulled, making her fall heavily on her behind.

"OR, we can practice wresting," grunted Ianthe grabbing hold of Feliks' wrist and quickly putting him into an armbar. Bridging her hips upwards until Feliks tapped Ianthe's leg for her to let go.

"Now, you _are_ going to puke," promised Ianthe.

"Mercy?"

"Mmm," hummed Ianthe putting a thoughtful finger to her chin. "Nope. You're going to vomit. Now get dressed or I'm taking your clothes and making you walk through the camp naked."

xxx

Desdemona inhaled deeply through the scarf covering her face and felt a measure of peace fall over her at the smell of the crushed pine needles in her hands. She felt like she was in her own private sanctuary as the wind made the leaves on the branches above her rustle as if sighing in contentment. Desdemona inhaled deeply from the crushed pine needles again, imagining that she was far away, deep in some ancient forest where no one could ever find her.

Charon had made a mistake when he had formed her, letting too much of the raw life force of the forest fuel her creation, without first converting it to his own. A mistake he had seen to remedy with his newest creations. She had been relegated to pack mule as his coterie of creations had grown, which was better she supposed that ceasing to exist. Though she was still expected to fight when Charon demanded and spread her legs when he desired, which was almost nightly.

Charon could feel what she could feel Desdemona was sure. Maybe not the exact words that she thought in her mind, but he could feel emotion. Intention. Perhaps that was why he was so rough when he entered and used her. He could tell that she did not want him in her.

Desdemona's pale eyes caught movement and she saw a squirrel darting its way through the underbrush. Crouching down and holding out a handful of nuts she stood immobile, the squirrel making its way over to her with quick, jerky movements. Bushy tail raised high as it zigzagged towards her.

It sniffed at her and then deciding that she wasn't a threat, the squirrel hopped onto Desdemona's forearm that she held in front of the nuts and began taking them from her hand. Eating with quiet crunching noises.

Desdemona smiled at the small creature behind her scarf, noting how its tiny paws gripped at her arm and how the fur felt on her bare milky white skin. Almost too pale to be alive. She wanted to stroke the squirrel's head and pet its fur, but she was scared if she did it would become startled and leave her, so she was content to just watch it eat.

"Kill it," came the curt command from behind her.

"My Lord?" asked Desdemona in confusion, looking back over her shoulder with her ghostly pale eyes at her lord and master Charon.

He never said anything, but instead held out his hand like he was gripping something between his fingers and blinding pain erupted all across her body. White hot and erasing all thought from her mind beyond wishing for the pain to stop. It stole her breath from her so that she couldn't scream and desperately she grabbed the squirrel with the hand that had been holding the nuts, crushing the furry creature into a red paste in an instant, tearing it apart when the pain refused to relent.

Even when there was nothing left to crush or tear of the squirrel the pain continued and Desdemona thrashed about in agony, finally finding the breath to scream which she did loudly. Tearing furrows into the dirt with her fingers as she spasmed in pain. It seemed to continue for an eternity, before just as abruptly as it had come it was gone.

It left Desdemona gasping for breath and soaked with cold sweat. Her muscles quivering from the trauma of what had just happened and with a shaky hand she pulled her scarf away from her mouth so that she could vomit out what she had eaten for breakfast with something approaching dignity, before coughing haggardly.

"When I tell you to do something," began Charon grabbing Desdemona by the collar of her tunic, making her whimper in fear, "You do it without hesitation. Okay?"

"Y-yes my lord! Of course my lord!" babbled Desdemona, pale eyes wide with fear, body trembling in terror and wanting very much to hide away from the apostle. She let out a pitiful whimpering wail as Charon made the gesture as if he was going to cause her pain again.

"Alright, just so we understand each other," said Charon cheerily, adjusting Desdemona's clothes so they were less disheveled. "Now how about a smile for me?"

Immediately Desdemona smiled wide and brightly for the Apostle.

"How about a frown?" and immediately Desdemona changed her expression to a dark frown.

"I don't like frowns," remarked Charon idly before roughly shoving Desdemona to the ground and walking away.

Desdemona's breathing was slow and labored as she adopted a fetal position and hugged herself tightly. She stayed like that until the nausea dissipated enough that she could sit up without feeling faint and her breathing was back to normal.

She no longer thought of getting vengeance upon Charon when he treated her like this, because it invariably just led to more pain so she instead just repeated a mantra that she had devised for herself.

I am still alive, I am unbroken. It doesn't matter what he does to me, because I will continue on regardless.

Desdemona didn't know why she still had hope, why she clung to her own existence with such determination, but the one thing that she did have was a desire to live. Maybe because it was the only thing that was truly hers.

She held up her hands, seeing them covered in the blood and viscera of the squirrel. Desdemona felt something like loss well up inside of herself and taking her hands she scooped out a hole in the dirt, before taking what remained of the squirrel and putting it in the shallow grave. She scooped a handful of dirt back over top of the hole and washed the gore off of her hands. Perhaps it was because her ears were still ringing from feeling as though her body was tearing itself apart that she didn't hear the boy approach her.

"Are you okay?"

Startled, Desdemona looked up and saw a youth with a bow and quiver slung over his shoulder. He took a step back as Desdemona's ghostly pale eyes locked with his own.

"Are you blind?" asked the boy, sounding concerned and reaching out towards her as if to help her up.

"No," said Desdemona, a prickling sense of dread settling over her. If this boy didn't leave and quickly and Charon found him, Desdemona let the thought fade away. Thinking about it could very well make it happen.

"But, your eyes," said the boy gesturing. He was perhaps 14 years old with thick, curly chestnut hair and brown eyes. Eyes that held a soul, not the pale nothingness that Desdemona's own held she thought bitterly.

"I was born with them as they are," said Desdemona, not exactly lying.

"Are you...a forest spirit?" asked the boy and Desdemona cocked her head quizzically, letting her long and silky black hair spill down past her shoulders.

"Why would you think that?"

"Well, your eyes are strange and you look...different. But you're, um, beautiful too," finished the boy, blushing as he said it.

"Why thank you, but I am not so fortunate," said Desdemona chucking before standing, then following the boys gaze as he looked at the puddle of vomit that had been the few grains of wheat that Charon had allowed her to eat.

"Are you ill?" asked the youth.

"I was, but I am better for the moment," answered Desdemona truthfully, before the familiar growl of her stomach sounded. Perhaps Charon would let her eat tomorrow? She doubted it though. If he only made her wait a day between meals then he would be being quite generous.

"Here, you should eat something," said the youth pulling some jerky from a pouch at his side and holding it out to Desdemona.

"I should not, it is yours," protested Desdemona, taken aback by the boys kindness.

"It's alright, you're hungry. Here," said the youth still holding out the meat.

The sweet smell of the meat and spices wafted into Desdemona's nose and made her mouth water and stomach rumble. She took the piece of jerky and nibbled on the end of it, her first time ever eating meat and gods it was good! How had she gone this long without having eaten any? She became almost like a ravenous beast, devouring the jerky and licking her fingers clean, desperate to not let a single fleck of spice or meat go uneaten. A pleasant tingling on her lips from the spices.

She could have kissed the boy in gratitude as he held out a handful more to her and just as quickly she devoured it, taste buds coming alive as she realized that the jerky was from several different batches that had each used a different seasoning, and a wedge of cheese too! Each bite a new experience, and every mouthful served to banish the gnawing hunger that was ever present in her belly. To finish the youth gave her a gourd of ale and she drank from it heartily, the bitter drink like sweet nectar and it served to renew the flavor of the meat. As she drank the last drop Desdemona felt content for the first time in her life, and deep gratitude for the boy in front of her.

"Thank you, I...am very grateful for the meal."

"When was the last time you had something to eat?" asked the boy, somewhat in awe of Desdemona's ravenous appetite.

"This morning I was allowed a handful of grain to eat. Before that? Three days ago I was given a loaf of stale bread."

"Are you alone out here?" asked the youth.

"Yes," answered Desdemona giving the boy a very literal answer. For in this exact moment in time, in this specific place, she was alone.

"Would you like to come back with me? Father and my younger brother are down by the river, and I'm sure that he would say yes. We have the room and food for you. The forest is no place for a woman alone. I can take you away from here if you would like."

For a moment, Desdemona allowed herself to dream as she gazed into the eyes of the youth. He was still young yet, but he would soon reach manhood and when he did she could give him children, stronger children than any other woman in Falmart. She would enjoy their coupling, because she would want it and she would cook and care for him and their children and he would provide for them. He had kind eyes and she doubted that he would beat her, indeed any touch would most likely be a gentle caress. The simple life of a farmer's wife seemed like a far away fantasy, but Desdemona wanted it now more than anything. It was like an all consuming fire burning in her chest so strong was the want, but it would only ever be a fantasy. Her destiny was not her own to decide, that and her in her entirely belonged to Charon. Still though, how she longed to just say yes and hide away on some farm, far from Charon and whatever he would have her do.

A cry of pain and fright echoed through the forest making the boy look towards it in alarm and Desdemona in mild interest.

"Father," said the boy in breathless urgency, before taking off at a sprint towards the sound.

As she watched him run off, Desdemona had a sudden compulsion to help the youth. He had been kind to her when he had no reason too. Given her food and drink and for a moment had let her escape into a happy world of fantasy. Could she not do something to help him as well?

Desdemona ran faster than any being on two legs had a right to, faster than a galloping horse as she overtook the youth and plucking him up as though he were no more than a bag of feathers with one arm.

The boy cried out in alarm as Desdemona carried them through the forest, leaping off of trees and over shallow ravines. As they approached the river, Desdemona realized that the youth was looking up at her with something like awe.

Desdemona stopped when they reached the river, coming to a stop with her foot cutting a furrow into the loamy soil as she brought them to a halt. Desdemona narrowed her ghostly pale eyes in disgust as the youth let out a wail of grief.

The youth's father was dead, of that there was no doubt. Torn limb from limb by the 'man' standing over top of him, arms red and ruddy with blood.

"Birsha, what are you doing?" demanded Desdemona as the murderer's ghostly pale eyes locked with her own.

"Merely going for a walk," said the bare chested Birsha grinning, his body looking as if it was sculpted from stone. Muscles looking more like pale marble than flesh beneath skin. He had noble features with broad shoulders, a square jaw, and long curly brown locks. Another one of Charon's creations, her brother she supposed, but she claimed no kinship with such a brute.

Charon would give them tasks, chores to accomplish and Desdemona always did hers quickly and quietly without making much of a fuss or a ruckus. Whether Charon wanted her to get money, clothes, food, or else something more exotic. Birsha was not so discreet.

He had been told to get an idol from a temple in a village and how had he gone about it? By burning the entire place to the ground and murdering every man woman and child that inhabited it. Gorging himself on their flesh and reveling in their misery.

"Have you brought me a snack, or is he just a cock to fill you Desdemona? No matter, I have my own snack, you may have your own," said Birsha holding up a squalling child of maybe 7.

"Thomas!" yelled the youth to Desdemona's side, rushing ahead, but stopping as he ran into Desdemona's unmoving arm.

"Let him go Birsha. Now!" demanded Desdemona, voice a harsh growl as Birsha made to take a bite from the child.

"Oh?" chucked Birsha in amusement. "Protecting a human Desdemona? How motherly of you. And what will you do if I don't?"

"I'll rip your black heart from your chest with my bare hands," promised Desdemona viciously.

"Oh. Will you now?" said Birsha, no longer grinning as his face set into a hard line. Tossing the squalling child to the side and began walking towards Desdemona. Hands rippling as if made of water and fingers extending with terrible crackling sounds until they resembled blades made of hardened bone.

"Stay well back from this," cautioned Desdemona and the youth made as if to draw his bow, but Desdemona cuffed him upside the head.

"Don't be foolish. That won't do anything," chastised Desdemona and the youth merely nodded, before stepping back to the edge of the treeline.

"You think that because you were the first that master made you're special? That you have rank? You're merely the experiment that was allowed to live so you could pull the cart and be a sleeve for master's cock," spat Birsha viciously. "You are nothing compared to me, I am the superior creation and you think to give me orders? I am your better!"

"Then prove it," said Desdemona. She leaped back as Birsha moved faster than a creation of flesh and blood had any right to, long bony claws sinking deep into the loamy soil where she had just been standing.

Desdemona flipped back into a handspring, avoiding another slash from Birsha's bony weapons, before jumping back into a tree and pushing off with both feet an instant before Birsha cleaved it into pieces with a splintering crash that sent splinters of wood careening wildly though the air.

Birsha turned to face Desdemona just as she delivered a savage kick into the side of his ribs that echoed across the small clearing far too loudly and sent Birsha crashing into a tree that snapped under the impact.

Birsha rose with a snarl, veins standing out like steel cords across his body in rage as he batted the trunk of the tree he had been flung into aside. In his anger he hadn't seen Desdemona move and she brought the heel of her foot down atop his head, nearly bringing him to his knees. As he looked up, a snarl on his face, Desdemona brought her elbow into his face with bone shattering force flinging him back.

Birsha rose, his face a bloody mess, but he was grinning as he clacked his blood covered claws together triumphantly. Bringing them to his mouth as he licked them clean.

"You taste good Desdemona. I think I want a second helping," praised Birsha as Desdemona gripped her bloody side with a grimace. Four gashes in neat lines sat just below her ribs on her right side from Birsha's claws. Staining her gray clothes red with her own blood.

He rushed towards her, claws held high and attempted to cleave her in half in a single blow, but Desdemona staggered him as with a cry of rage she brought the trunk of a fallen tree crashing down atop his head.

With a bellow of rage Birsha rushed towards her again, but Desdemona dropped to the ground, sweeping his legs out from underneath him as he charged, causing him to fall forwards heavily. Before he could rise, Desdemona pounced on his back, grabbing hold of his right arm and bending it back.

Birsha was hellishly strong, much stronger than she was by far, but his arm was not stronger than her entire body. Even though his body was not human, there was still ways that his arm could _not_ bend, but Desdemona forced it to anyways with a wet _snap._ Pulling harder yet until bone broke the skin and she ripped it free of his arm. Let his flesh heal when there was no bone to heal around.

Birsha howled in pain and rage, bucking wildly and managing to throw Desdemona underneath him. She cried out in pain as he thrust his claws through her thigh, before pinning her to the ground by her throat.

"I'm going to rip you open from cunt to throat!" growled Birsha, apocalyptic with rage. Rage turning to shock and disbelief as Desdemona rammed the bone she had torn free of his arm into his neck, blood spurting from the wound the bony weapon had made.

In shock, Birsha brought his hand to his throat to stem the flow of blood as Desdemona's hand closed around a large rock. She shattered it against Birsha's head, stunning him and she pushed him underneath her, pinning his arm. She cut open his belly with Birsha's own arm bone and thrust her arm in. Birsha's mouth agape with pain and fear as Desdemona pushed her hand past iron hard muscles and around bone until she was elbow deep in Birsha's torso.

"Desdemona, wait!" cried Birsha in terror as her hand closed around his heart. She squeezed and pulled, a wet sucking and ripping noise accompanying her arm as it withdrew from Birsha's chest, still holding his beating heart. Birsha stared in disbelief at his own heart in Desdemona's hand. She crushed it into a meaty paste and Birsha looked at her as if unable to comprehend what she had just done, before the light went out behind his ghostly pale eyes and Birsha died.

Desdemona was breathing hard from both exertion and pain, clutching at her side, she stumbled to her feet, limping as she favored her injured leg, the youth and his brother looking at her in shock.

"You have to leave," said Desdemona, falling to her knees. "No," protested Desdemona as the two brothers rushed to her side to help her.

"You have to go, now!" pleaded Desdemona, grasping the shirt of the youth and forcing him to look her in the eyes. "There are more like him, like me."

"You'll die if we leave you," protested the youth. "Your wounds-"

"Are not fatal to me," interrupted Desdemona. The youth stared in disbelief as the gashes on Desdemona's side were ever so slowly closing and healing. No longer even bleeding though she had suffered them only moments ago.

"But," stuttered the youth.

"You have to run, leave this place and never return. Don't even return for your father's corpse. Just run, please, I beg of you. If he finds you here-"

"Who would be that he Desdemona? Surely you don't mean me?"

Slowly, Desdemona turned to where the voice came from, terror threatening to overtake her as her gaze fell onto Charon and at least a dozen of her brothers and now sisters it seemed. Several were newly formed ones that she didn't recognize, still naked. Very recent creations it seemed. All of them having the same ghostly pale eyes that she did.

"Stay back!" threatened the youth, nocking an arrow on his bow.

"Oh how adorable, he thinks he can kill me with that," chuckled Charon. "I do have to give you credit though Desdemona, you're more capable than I thought you were. Birtha was stronger than you by far, but not smarter it seems. Oh how you made up for the difference in strength with skill brings a tear to my eye. Now drown these two in the river and we'll be off."

"I," mumbled Desdemona, fingers clutching at the soil beneath her.

"Come now," began Charon and a bow string _twanged_. The arrow burned to ashes before reaching him, followed quickly by the bow. The youth dropping it as it burned to cinders.

"Oh how spirited, I bet that you'll take quite a while to drown," praised Charon, before turning back to Desdemona and slowly walking towards her.

"We both know how this is going to end Desdemona, so why try and fight the inevitable?" asked Charon, the two brothers backing away from the apostle with the massive scythe resting on his shoulder. Desdemona rising to her feet.

"You're going to do what I tell you to, because I demand it," continued Charon, lightly grasping hold of Desdemona's jaw so she had no choice but to look him in the eyes. "The only difference is how much pain you feel before you do it."

Desdemona whimpered pitifully in fear as Charon brought his hand up in the gesture that could cause her indescribable pain any time he so wished. Pale eyes flicking fearfully to Charon's raised hand, before going back to his eyes.

"Now be a good girl and do as you're told. There you go," praised Charon as Desdemona turned to face the brothers silently. She grabbed both boys by the scruff of the neck, lifting them off the ground and walked towards the river, heedless of how they kicked or tried to break free.

She walked until she was waist deep in the waters of the river, before thrusting the two brothers below with a splash. They thrashed and kicked, turning the water around them to frothy bubbles, but neither could overcome Desdemona's inhuman strength. She thought about breaking their necks to make their deaths quicker, but Charon would know if she did. He would know and he would punish her, so she held their thrashing forms below the water, waiting for them to expire.

The younger brother was the first to go, his struggles growing weaker until they faded all together. The youth though fought on, his will to live truly strong. In the end though he was just a man, just a human and he eventually too succumbed.

Desdemona's vision clouded and she blinked trying to clear it, ripples spreading forth in the water flowing past her and she realized that she was crying. She let the two corpses of the brothers be carried away by the flowing water, biting her cheek hard enough to draw blood to stop herself from sobbing as she trudged back towards the shore.

"Good girl. Now, how about a smile for me?"

Desdemona collected herself and gave Charon a wide and bright smile, tears still clinging to the edges of her eyes. When they left, Desdemona tied her scarf around her face and brought the hood of her traveling cloak up, wanting to do nothing more than hide away from the world.

Xxx

Luella was humming happily as she picked some flowers, being sure to bury some of the seeds so that more would grow later. They hadn't had any luck finding the pilot yet, but that also meant that they got to spend more time in the forest, though the trail that they were following and what the locals were saying, it seemed more and more likely that Luella's drow, or dark elf cousins had him in their possession.

It wasn't a bad thing necessarily. Although the drow did practice slavery and were more accepting of base impulses within their culture, they weren't barbaric or needlessly cruel. Indeed, there were more similarities than difference between her people and the drow.

They had stopped for a mean and there wasn't too much time left before they would have to go, but Luella had eaten quickly so that she could explore. Feliks didn't like her going off on her own, but there was so much to see here. The plants, the birds, even the bugs were different than from back home, though she had to stop Ser Hops from eating everything that she collected.

He was much fatter now than when Ianthe had given him to her and true to her word, Ianthe had gotten her a rabbit with white feet that looked like socks. His larger appearance was a result of Luella lavishing him with carrots, lettuce, and anything else that she had that Ser Hops would eat and he ate everything.

"No, don't eat the flower," admonished Luella, pulling the flower she had just plucked away from the rabbit's twitching nose. "You can have a carrot instead," offered the elfin girl and soon Ser Hops was gorging himself on a handful of carrots.

"Oh, you're pretty. You're coming with me," cooed Luella plucking another flower and putting it into a jar, then put it into her satchel pack.

"Well just a few more and we'll head back Ser Hops. Ser Hops?" said Luella again, noticing that the rabbit was no longer at her side. "Ser Hops come back," called the elfin girl, seeing the rabbit disappear into a bush.

She followed Ser Hops, cutting through the forest surprisingly quick fat rabbit. She bounded over fallen trees and picked her way nimbly though dense undergrowth, hot on the fluffy tail of Ser Hops.

"And got you," said Luella triumphantly scooping up the rabbit, having to dive under some low hanging branches to do so. "That was a bad Ser Hops. Bad," scolded Luella, before realizing that she wasn't alone.

"Hello," said Luella cheerily to about eight people of various races sitting around a cooking fire.

"Hi," said one of them unenthusiastically.

"It's nice to meet you, I'm Luella," continued the elf only to be met by silence. "Well I'm sorry to interrupt your dinner, have a good day."

"You're an elf right?"

"Yes sir I am."

"Do you know magic?"

"W-well, I mean I do, but I'm not really supposed to," stammered Luella.

"Euric here has a nasty gash on his arm. Think that you could look at it?"

"Of course," said Luella concerned, immediately heading to the one named Euric who had an arm swathed in dirty bandages. She peeled back the soiled linen and had to make an effort of will not to crinkle her nose at the smell that emanated from the infected wound. The flesh rotting in a black pus filled mass that stretched from a vicious looking gash that went from wrist to elbow.

Luella calmed herself and began to sing to guide her power and golden light enclosed the man's arm, him and his companions looking on in something like awe as she healed his arm. The gash closing as if it had never existed and the pus evaporating like ash blowing away in the wind. When Luella was finished, there wasn't so much as a blemish where the wound had been.

"That feels much better," said Euric, the bald man rubbing his arm.

"No problem sir, it was a pleasure to help, though you should have kept the wound clean. You could have lost your arm," admonished the elf. "If I may ask though, how did you get that kind of wound? Did you have an accident scything your fields?"

"No. I got it from a bitch who was too attached to her coin and wasn't willing to open her legs for me. I got both from her, but she got one good scratch in on me, before I opened her belly."

"O-oh. W-well, I should be going now," stammered Luella nervously, only to back into a solid mass of muscle, letting out a yelp as thick arms closed around her.

"I don't think that we're going to let you go anywhere elf," said one of the men seated around the fire. A man of average size with dark hair an a scar on his cheek. "The Empire is paying a lot of money for magic users right now."

"W-well I've got prior employment so I'm afraid that I can't go with you right now," said Luella with a nervous smile that faded under the severe expression of the man.

"I'm not asking elf. Tie her up," said the man.

Luella swallowed heavily as fear blossomed in her breast and she let out a nervous whimper as she saw one of the men from around the fire produce a length of rope. A youth wearing a woolen cap with tufts of red hair sticking out from under it and a bow slung over his shoulder grabbing hold of it and starting towards her. She wanted to run, but the man holding her was much stronger than she was and there was no way that she'd be able to break free. And he was so much bigger than she was too! Just like Boris.

Like a flash, the memory came to the forefront of Luella's mind as she remembered Boris making her practice with him. How he would grab her just like this and instruct her on how to get away. How they had practiced over and over until the veteran had been satisfied, and this man was nearly the same size as Boris.

Luella brought her booted foot up and stomped down on the mans instep, then driving her elbow back into his body, before letting her body fall limp and slipping out of his arms as they loosened in pain and surprise. The man cursed and grabbed at Luella as she crawled around him, his hand hooking on her jacket that she let him take, before rising to her feet and taking off at a run into the forest.

"BORIS! FELIKS! IANTHE! HELP!" cried Luella desperately as she cut through the underbrush nimbly, running quicker as she heard something much larger than her crashing through it. No doubt the orc that she had seen around the fire.

Something whistled through the air and impacted Luella heavily in the legs, binding them together and making her fall to the ground, scraping her arms on the roots crisscrossing the ground. She hissed at the pain, but made herself crawl forwards, pulling at the weighted bindings that had wrapped around her legs. She managed to get the binding off of her legs, but just as she managed to get to her feet she was tackled heavily from behind and brought crashing down again.

"BORIS! FELIKS! HELP!" cried out Luella again.

"Shut up bitch!" growled the man pinning her down and pain exploded across Luella's head as he struck her, bringing tears to her eyes. She tried to call out again, but the man covered her mouth with his hand, muffling her cries.

With snapping twigs and the heavy patter of boots, the rest of the bandits that Luella now recognized them to be gathered around her.

"Tie her up and gag her," growled a voice above Luella, that she recognized as belonging to the man with the scar on his cheek. Luella whined in discomfort into the hand covering her mouth as powerful hands grabbed her own and forced them behind her back, tying them together with an abrasive rope. Luella tried to turn her head away as the bag was brought to her mouth, but she was overpowered and soon any noise she made was just an unintelligible mumble.

"What if she tries to run away again? She's fast," said one of the voices above her.

"She said that she's with others. If there's a lot of them it could be trouble," said another.

"Then break her ankle so she can't run, and be quick about it."

"The Empire won't like a crippled mage. I doubt they'd pay anything for one who can't walk."

"She can heal herself later, don't worry."

Luella's eyes opened wide in fright and a strong hand grabbed one of her feet, pulling it away from the rest of her body.

"I won't run! I promise I won't! I'll be good, just don't hurt me!" begged Luella, her desperate pleading coming out as an unintelligible muffled babble. She saw one of the men holding a hammer, preparing to bring it down on her foot and she shut her eyes, not wanting to see it fall.

Two loud and sharp cracks sounded, echoing in the forest as Luella heard something moving fast hiss over top of her. Feeling the air as it passed her by, followed by two meaty thunks. There was a stunned silence for a heartbeat and then a cacophony of sharp cracks filled the clearing that Luella now recognized to be a Kalashnikov. She shut her eyes tight, wishing that she could cover her ears to blot out the sound.

Luella kept her eyes shut, until the gunfire and panicked cries around her grew quiet. She kept them shut as boots crunched through the twigs and stopped in front of her.

"It's alright darling, you're safe now," said a fatherly voice above her and Luella opened her eyes to see the veteran Boris kneeling above her. She felt immediate relief and quickly he cut her bindings and removed her gag. Luella then immediately buried her head into Boris' chest.

"I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have run off on my own," sniffled Luella. "But Ser Hops ran off and I followed him without telling anyone. And I...and I," continued Luella, voice wavering.

"It's alright darling, you'll just have to stay closer to us from now on," said Boris tenderly, stroking her hair.

"I did like you showed me Boris, like we practiced and I ran."

"You did just fine," praised Boris.

"Up, move," ordered Feliks, grabbing hold of one of the survivors of the bandits, a man with a bald head and both hands high. He put him in a line next to the other two survivors, a man with a scar on his cheek and a shattered shoulder from where a 7.62 round hat hit him, and a red haired young man, that on closer inspection was actually a girl.

They bound their hands and spread them apart from each other, Feliks' men keeping their weapons on them should they think about trying anything violent. Feliks looked at Luella and his eyes hardened upon seeing her scrapes and bruises that covered her, as well as a small gash atop her blonde brows. He looked down at the prisoners in front of him like they were something unpleasant that he had just stepped in. Feliks suddenly feeling _very_ much like his old self again.

"You know you attacked someone pretty special to us," said Feliks talking to the man with the scar on his cheek. "You also look like you're the one in charge so I'm going to start with asking you the questions. Why?"

"Money," spat out the man through clenched teeth.

"Really? Who's paying?"

"What does it matter? You stupid fucking JSDF," muttered the man, spitting on Feliks' leg.

"It matters, because I fucking asked you a question," growled Feliks and in a move that shocked even Feliks' own men, kicked the man onto his back and ground his boot on the mans shattered shoulder, making him howl in pain.

"Bastard," groaned out the man.

"A name," demanded Feliks.

"It's the Empire you dumb little shit! They're paying good silver for magic users like your little elf friend there."

"Good, now we're getting somewhere," said Feliks, ignoring the uncertain looks that his men were giving each other.

"Next question, are there more of you? Are you part of a larger group and do you know of more groups in the area looking for magic users? People who report back to the Empire?"

"I don't have to tell you Japanese shit," grunted the man, face white with pain.

"No, you don't," agreed Feliks. "But you'd be smart to keep me happy. Oh hello," said Feliks, bending down and picking up a small bug.

"See this little guy? Mean little bastard for being so small," said Feliks holding up the ant for the man to see.

"Got bit by one last week and it hurt like a son of a bitch. Damned thing left a welt the size of my thumb and usually where there's one there's a whole colony of the little bastards. Ah, right there," pointed Feliks to a tall mound of dirt.

"I can just imagine how awful it would be to fall onto one of those. I'm sorry, did I say something funny?" asked Feliks to the laughing bald man.

"It's funny that you gutless JSDF are trying to scare us," chuckled the man.

"Oh? Do tell," said Feliks quietly, walking until he was standing directly in front of him.

"You all act like you're all tough and scary bastards, but it couldn't be farther from the truth. I gutted a bitch in front of one of you and all I had to do was let go of the knife and you couldn't do a fucking thing to me. Japanese don't have authority to hold me since I'm not a citizen. I even got an apology from when I complained about the food."

"Did you now?"

"So now I'm going to say the magic words and say that I want to talk to your superior."

"Well look at that, you're talking to him," said Feliks making the bald man chuckle.

"Well if we're going to have a discussion I'm going to need your name," said Feliks dryly.

"Euric."

"Well Euric I'm afraid that you're quite right about the rules of engagement for the JSDF, they're quite restrictive, frustratingly so and the guidelines for dealing with prisoners are absolute."

"So let us go, you both know that you can't hold us. If you don't I'll tell your superiors how you abused Roderic and maybe the next time I see your little elf friend over there I'll rape her bloody and then I'll just say sorry again. And you'll have to let me go again."

"Hm," was all Feliks said, regarding Euric with two dark blue eyes devoid of anything, but hardening past steel when Euric threatened Luella.

"Well I suppose you're right Euric, the JSDF can't do anything to you, but I've got something to tell you that's pretty important before I send you off."

"And what's that?"

"I'm not fucking Japanese," said Feliks emotionless and in one smooth motion drew his pistol, holding it a scant few inches from Eurics forehead and pulled the trigger twice, scattering the bald man's brains over the ground.

Feliks' men jumped back, startled at the sudden killing and the red haired youth attempted to run, arms still bound behind her and Feliks shot her twice in the back, making her fall wordlessly to the ground.

"Lieutenant," said Vitsin nervously, the blonde medic clearly shaken.

"All around defense Soldier. Now!" growled Feliks and his men jumped to obey, Boris looking on with an uncertain look on his face. Unsure whether to stop the young officer, or even if he could.

"Well Roderic, just me and you now," said Feliks grabbing hold of the injured man and dragging him towards the anthill, making him grunt and curse in pain.

"Now tell me if there's more of you," demanded Feliks.

"Fuck you, you murdering piece of shit!"

Without a word, Feliks put his boot through the anthill, collapsing it and causing a black skittering mass of angry ants to burst forth from the remains. A swell of black chitin crawling over each other. Feliks kicked the man into the mass of ants, holding him down with his boot. The man began to scream terribly in agony as Feliks held him down.

"Are there more of you?" asked Feliks calmly, loud enough so that they man could hear him over his own screams.

"NO! BY THE GODS NOOO!"

"Are there other groups around here? A larger camp that you came from maybe?"

"NO! PULL ME OUT! PULL ME OUT!"

"Are you sure?"

"YES!"

"Are you lying to me?"

"NOOOO!" bawled the man, half mad with pain as the ants bit and clawed him, traveling inside his clothes and biting him as they swarmed.

"Alright, I believe you," said Feliks, then shot the man twice through the back of the head and making him fall silent.

A low and pitiful moan from the red haired girl laying in a growing pool of her own blood stole Feliks' attention and he started towards her, pistol held low.

"P-please m'lord! I-I don't want to die," half sobbed, half groaned the girl as she tried to crawl away from Feliks, face white from pain and blood loss.

"Well we don't all get what we want," said Feliks raising his pistol towards the girl who let out a terrified whimper, stopping in surprise when it was the petite elf Luella who was blocking his shot, holding her arms out to her sides like a shield.

"That's enough," said Luella sternly, purple eyes resolute.

"Move Luella."

"No," said the elfin girl firmly. "This isn't fighting Feliks, it's murder. They can't fight back anymore and there's no reason for this! No reason at all!"

"They were going to break your leg and make you a slave Luella. That one was gong to rape you," said Feliks pointing to the dead Euric. "Would be raping you if we hadn't come along."

"But it didn't happen. You don't need to kill anyone else, there's no point to it. I won't let you kill anyone else, so if you're going to keep killing, you're going to have to start with me."

Luella stared down Feliks and the Soviet officer relented, holstering his pistol and the blonde elf turned to the dying girl on the ground behind her and began to sing, encasing her in golden light. The bullet wounds closing and healing. The red head girl's green eyes opening wide in shock and disbelief.

"Gods bless you m'lady, bless you," said the girl in a hiccuping sob. "I never meant nothing by what I did! I swear by all the gods that I didn't! I...I…" continued the girl, her voice wavering.

"Shh, it's alright. All is forgiven, don't trouble yourself with thoughts of it anymore," said Luella gently, holding the girl's head against her breast and stroking her hair.

"Everything is all going to be okay now. No one is going to hurt you anymore, I promise. You're safe now. What is your name?"

"G-Gelvira m'lady."

"What a beautiful name Gelvira. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Here, I'll untie your hands for you. There there, let it out," cooed Luella as the girl sobbed into her chest.

"I'm so sorry m'lady, I didn't mean to," said the girl again.

"It's alright Gelvira, come along now, we'll get you something to eat and a clean set of clothes to get into. Luella stood with the red haired girl, still clutching onto her arm as if for safety. Cringing and almost trying to disappear as they passed by Feliks.

Luella stopped as they passed by the orc, the large warrior still drawing quiet, but haggard breaths. His arm had been torn free from concentrated fire and his body was peppered with bullet holes, covering his entire chest in crimson. His eyes glazed over and unseeing.

Luella knelt down beside the dying orc and stretched out her hands, beginning to sing and once again golden light filled the clearing. The high and clear notes of her voice rebounding through the forest. When the last not of her voice died away, a small patch of flowers had bloomed around the orc, who held up his newly reformed arm in something like amazement. Flexing it and watching the appendages move.

"Goddeukuk," said the orc in wonder, pushing his head into the dirt at Luella's feet in submission and reverence.

"No, not a goddess, just Luella. Come, we'll get you something to eat. Kjani," said Luella cheerily, the guttural orc language sounding odd coming from her soft voice. The orc hesitantly taking the petite elf's small hand with his own giant one. Letting her lead him and Gelvira back to the Soviet camp.

xxx

"I still don't know why we had to bring her," grumbled Tuka, giving the dark elf Yao a sideways glance.

"Be nice Tuka, remember what I taught you," said Itami, finding that playing the role of the elf's dead father increasingly difficult. Both in making the charade believable enough to not give the elf headaches and also morally.

The way she looked at him, with such love and adoration in her eyes that he knew belonged to another. To a man who had raised her that was no longer alive. A man that he was now pretending to be.

"You're right," agreed Tuka with a sigh. "You're always saying how we have to be nice to our Drow cousins...even if she is a bitch," muttered the blonde.

"Tuka," said Itami reproachfully, making Tuka hunch her shoulders.

"But she told lies father. Terrible lies! She said that you were dead, that I was only fooling myself. But you're not dead father! You're not, you're right here. You're still with me, just like you always said you would be," finished Tuka in a murmur her eyes glistening with tears, grasping onto Itami's arm and hugging it close to her. Making guilt crawl its way through the Japanese officer.

He stroked Tuka's golden hair and she sighed in contentment, hugging his arm closer to herself.

"She said that you were gone, but you'd never leave me, would you father?"

"Never," said Itami, watching her blue eyes light up with joy and Tuka buried her head into his shoulder.

"I know you wouldn't, which is why I don't mind who comes with us. So long as you're with me I'm happy. I'm sorry I cursed father, I know that you dislike such crudeness."

"It's alright Tuka, I forgive you. Just don't do it again."

"Alright father," mumbled the forest elf, giving Yao a scathing look, before clutching Itami closer to herself possessively, then slowly falling asleep. It was a gradual sleep, with her blinks slowly becoming longer and her breathing slowing until her eyes closed and her body relaxed. Tuka always becoming drowsy whenever she rode in a vehicle. Soon she was breathing softly, her breath warm against the side of his neck.

"I should not have been so cruel to her," said Yao quietly. The silver haired dark elf sounding as morose as she appeared half the time, though Itami supposed it was hard to appear cheerful when your people were being devoured.

"No," agreed Itami. "But we would have to address this one day regardless. The longer that this goes on, the worse it will be for her in the end. Hey Lelei, how's the driving going?"

"Very well," said the demure mage in her her ever calm tone. Though she didn't show much emotion, a byproduct of her training to master the mystical arts, she enjoyed driving immensely and Itami was more than happy to let her take a turn behind the wheel.

They were going to the refuge of the Dark Elves as Yao had called it. Not their primary home by any means, but a rocky fortress connected by a series of caves and set into a great gorge with only narrow paths leading to the entrances. A place where Yao's clan would go when threatened by war, or in this case a fire dragon. The only problem being was that although it had provisions to withstand a siege, they were not indefinite and they had not been stocked up beforehand as there had not been much prior warning of the fire dragon descending upon them.

Hunting and foraging was also hard in this region, being in the badlands of Elbe where little grew and there was even fewer game to be had for hunting. What there was to eat was being continually reduced to ash by the fire dragon. Gathering supplies was also becoming increasingly dangerous as the Dragon had taken to attacking caravans that were meant to bring food to the dark elves.

"How much father until we reach your people?" asked Itami.

"Not far. I would normally say a day of traveling on horseback, but with this," said Yao trailing off and shrugging her shoulders.

"I hope that we find that fire dragon sooner rather than later," interjected Rory, licking her lips hungrily. "The thought of doing battle again with such a creature is enough to drive a girl mad."

"Well we did come here for that," said Itami airily. Not looking forward in the slightest to having to fight the dragon again, though he had brought enough explosives to blow up a mountain with him.

"Dust," said Lelei pointing.

Itami looked out the windshield, following her finger and saw that there was indeed a great cloud of dust rising into the air in the distance. The kind of dust trail that a vehicle would leave. In fact a very similar one to the kind that they were leaving.

"Hey Lelei, pull up over there," said Itami and the young mage calmly nodded, bringing the HUMVEE to a stop by a low ridge.

Itami exited and crawled to the top, grunting in annoyance as rocks jabbed and poked at him as he clambered up over the side. His stealthy attempt rendered moot as Rory merely leaped to the top of the incline, before laying down beside him.

Itami looked through his binoculars, but he didn't really need them to see what was approaching. Hundreds of tanks, trucks, and armored vehicles stretched across the horizon. It looked like a whole damned division was coming right down on top of their heads.

Itami sighed wearily.

"Well this just keeps getting better and better," muttered the Japanese officer bitterly.

xxx

Desdemona trudged along the mountain path, following Charon and her brothers and sisters. All of them creations of the apostle. All of them having the soulless eyes with no color beyond a gray so pale as to appear almost white on first glance and the pupils of their eyes, supposed to be black hardly any darker than the near white of the rest of their eyes.

They no longer had the cart with them, which meant that Desdemona no longer needed to pull it, all of them instead carrying a rucksack filled with what they needed, but more importantly, what Charon wanted. In addition to Desdemona's good fortune with the cart, Charon no longer demanded to enter her on a nightly basis, his attentions having instead turned to Desdemona's new sisters, all eager to serve their master.

Desdemona only allowed him to do as he wished with her, because she feared him too greatly to refuse. Though her eyes may be different than those brought into the world of natural means, they did come with abilities that others lacked. They allowed her to see magic when she focused her mind on it. It was because of this ability that she knew that to oppose Charon would be more than suicide, it would be eternal damnation. He was like a dark mountain of power, monstrous to behold and utterly terrifying. Should he so choose to, he could reshape the very land around them in an instant, conjure up armies of the undead, and wreak untold woe.

Her stomach had long since emptied of the jerky that the youth had given her a week ago with little to replace it and now she had a dull ache in its place instead.

Desdemona cast her gaze off the edge of the path they were walking on and to the badlands below, the river cutting its way through like a blue gash. One of the few things that the fire dragon couldn't burn away. They had left the forest and most of what they encountered now were rocky badlands of Western Elbe. They were growing close to where Hardy had awoken the fire dragon, and the next stop on Charon's list.

"You were the one that killed Birsha, weren't you?"

Desdemona looked to the figure who had spoken, one of Charon's newer creations, but one that she couldn't quite remember the name of.

"I did."

"I liked Birsha," said the man and pushed Desdemona, or rather struck her with hard, bony protrusions that covered that man's arm, serving as both weapon and armor.

Desdemona's eyes opened wide in surprise and pain as she was pushed off the path and began tumbling down the side of the mountain. The force of the blow shattering the bone in her right arm.

She bounced off of the hard rock and broke through stunted shrubs that grew out from the side of the mountain, pain coursing through her body with every impact on jagged rock. Her face went white with pain as she hit a stony outcropping at an awkward angle with her arm underneath her, the same arm that had broke when her 'brother' had hit her.

Her ankle was next, catching in a crevice as she tried to slow her fall, twisting her around and with a sickening _crack_ she was once again tumbling down. The femur on her leg that Birsha had stabbed through breaking as it had not yet fully healed when she fell another 300 feet before landing on it, on solid rock. The platform breaking free as she hit it and sending her once again falling down to the waters below.

She hit the river with a mighty splash, but it may as well have been hitting concrete to her damaged body. She sank beneath the fast flowing water, getting pushed down and pulled by the current. The pack on her back weighing her down.

Desdemona's lungs allowed her to hold her breath far longer than that of a regular human, but even her body had its limits. Eventually her vision began to gray and darken, the edges closing in as she drowned. A part of her whispered that it was a fitting punishment for what she had done and told her to welcome the embrace of death. Just a few moments more and it would be over.

No. The word echoed throughout Desdemona's being with startling clarity and strength. She wasn't going to die. Not here, not yet. She ripped the pack from her back, snapping the straps and forced herself to the surface.

Breaking it she took in a gasp of sweet air that filled her lungs, before her head rebounded off a rock sticking out of the water with a meaty _thunk_ sending her spinning around her as her vision dimmed and she was forced back under again. Yet once again Desdemona clawed her way to the surface, kicking with broken legs and pulling with a broken arm. Even though the pain was excruciating, it was nothing compared to what Charon subjected her to when he so chose to.

She didn't know how long she struggled against the river, or how many times she went below the water, only to come to the top again, but it seemed like an eternity. Were she properly fed and rested, she could have at least used her inhuman strength to its full ability, but being kept near continual starvation had sapped her strength. Drained her ability to heal rapidly. Yet, it had not drained her desire for life and she clung to it with all the vehemence of a rabid beast.

Eventually, the river slowed and Desdemona used the last of her strength to pull herself to shore, clawing her way up through the mucky sludge with one pull of her good arm at a time. Fingers digging into the ground and pulling herself forwards like a snail inching itself forwards.

Panting heavily, covered in muck and gashes, Desdemona finally didn't have the strength to go any farther. She needed rest, but more than that she needed food else she would die. Yet, her vision faded and her eyes became heavier. Desdemona had meant to blink to clear her eyes, but the instant the lids closed, she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

When she woke again, she gazed up into brown eyes and for a moment she believed that it was the youth she had drowned in the very river that had tried to claim her as its victim. But that was wrong. This was a man fully grown and his hair was blonde and short, not brown and curly. He seemed taken aback by her ghostly pale eyes and said something in a language that she didn't understand to the men around him. All dressed in clothing mottled in color and carrying strange objects of wood and metal in their hands as if they were weapons.

Desdemona realized then that she wasn't feeling pain and her thoughts were unusually clouded, her body feeling warm. Had they drugged her? She tried to move weakly, but she was tied down to a stretcher, her broken limbs splinted and gashes bandaged.

They picked her up in the stretcher and carried her away from the water's edge. Desdemona felt consciousness leaving her again and she chose not to fight it, choosing sleep instead. What would come would come.

AN: Well that took up a decent amount of words to do. I had intended to put a few more scenes in, but I have a habit of doing too many short scenes so I cut a few out and lengthened some of the others.

Leave a review and tell me what you liked, what you didn't, and what you would like to see more of and if you liked Desdemona's POV or if you'd like to only observe her from the outside.


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